A Nymph Without Mercy
by KittyPimms
Summary: Erik did not believe in nymphs. But an arrow gone awry and a simple healing touch binds him to a beautiful creature in a way he never thought possible. Christine was happy living amongst the trees with her father and sisterlings, until the actions of a Knight separate her from her kin and leaves her struggling to understand a man so different from any she has ever known.
1. Chapter 1

I

They were not so different from mankind. Not truly. They had the same limbs and appendages, but humanity did not seem to be bound to the trees as they were. They did not hear the whisperings of the forest as the trees spread whatever news of the woodland realms seemed most pertinent, though most of it was simple chatterings about squirrels and bird's nests that were beginning to show signs of burgeoning life.

What seemed the most different was in their manner. Most of the men were gruff and surly, with hair on their faces that made her skin itch just to look upon it. They came to hunt and forage, and her sisterlings often encouraged their games of old that send the men running with bows in hand, desire dwelling in their hearts.

It was their way.

Perhaps it seemed foolhardy to tangle with danger in that way, but the dryads knew the risks well. They would tease and taunt and draw the men away from the High City should they ever stray too close.

And nymphs were quick and light footed, while the men stomped and cursed in the underbrush, seeking their prey.

Long ago the dryads had learned that a tale was told amongst the menfolk that if a man stole a kiss from one of the elusive creatures he would be granted a wish—and the right to bed her.

That story had been given to her by one of her elder sisterlings, as her father would most certainly not have shared such a thing. She could not imagine being used in such a way—not when for her people a single touch between dryad and dryon was enough to seal their bond.

There were certainly no _trysts _before their sealings, especially not with a human male.

Never had she heard of one of her kind being ensnared before. When speed and agility failed one of the nymphs, a well placed arrow on behalf of the dryon was certain to fell the pursuer.

While the game might seem mischievous—and often the younglings looked forward to the day their saplings had grown tall enough for them to be chosen for the task—it was one held in high regard.

They were protectors of the realm, though with feminine wiles and coy glances instead of weaponry.

But perhaps that was the most dangerous kind.

Christine was relatively new at the venture, and she found that she had not the cunning spirit that the elders had told her would come with practice. She often pitied some of the kinder looking men who so easily became enthralled, and while her people rarely caused anyone harm, the disappointment at not catching one of her kin was clearly evident and made her sorry.

The children were the worst.

Some were so young and innocent, all large eyes and shrunken features as they obviously turned to the woods for whatever nourishment they could find. Despite the protests of her kin Christine would whisper to them, luring them a tiny bit closer to the High City where she knew the most luscious berries resided.

She received a terrible scolding for the risk she had taken.

"If you lead them closer and they find sustenance, it will only entice them to _return. _And they shall not be children forever!" Her father was rarely angry. He was a calm spirit and one of the elders whose wisdom was unmatched—at least according to Christine.

"If you had seen then, _Adar, _you would have agreed with me! I am allowed to help a lost fawn, but not a human child?"

Her adar continued to glare but Christine remained steady. She did not know if it was truly as dangerous as he suggested. All she knew was that when a starving child stumbled into her path she could not remain idly by—not when with a simple word she could have saved them.

Eventually he sighed, reaching out a lone finger that she met eagerly with her own, one of the familial signs of affection. "I do not wish to lose you. Not after your _amé_…" His expression grew wistful, as it often did when he mentioned her mother.

"You will not lose me, _Adar. _I am careful. They may see me but I would never allow them to touch."

To touch a human meant exile—possibly even death. None in living memory knew of a nymph that had been touched by a human, but it was well understood throughout the woodland realm that it was strictly forbidden. She might be soft-hearted toward the race of men, but she would never risk the ability to see her father or sisterlings for the sake of their kind. "I _am_ sorry. I do not mean to upset you."

"That is never your intention, little one, but I should hope you would heed the wisdom of your father and not seek trouble when there is none to be had. Play with your kin, protect our home, and be contented." His eyes crinkled around the edges, belying his age in his otherwise youthful face. "And perhaps when the time is right you shall bond with that young friend of yours and live a long and happy life together."

Christine pulled away and hid her face behind her long hair, mortified that her father should be aware of the dryon who had begun expressing interest. They had known each other since seedlings, though mostly from afar. His father had long since been member of the council with her own _adar_, but as with all children once they had left babyhood no longer were they allowed to mingle. Each to their own kind until bonding—that was how it had always been.

Her father laughed softly at her distress. "We may not encourage contact, young one, but it has been obvious for some time that you and Raghnall had a fondness for one another. Should I announce the ceremony?"

He was teasing her, she knew, but she still felt acutely embarrassed. This was not how her bonding was to be announced!

Raghnall would have sought her father's council and upon receiving permission he would beckon her under the canopy of trees, older and wiser than any other place in the High City. The stars would twinkle from their heavens up above, and solemnly he would tell her of his desire for her, and taking her hand he would pledge himself to her, bonding his very soul with hers until they were parted by death.

Her father chuckled once more before waving her away. "Very well, daughter, I shall keep silent on the matter a while longer."

Christine did not have much time to linger on the prospect of imminent bonding, or her father's apparent _silence _on the matter, not when there were duties to perform. But while some of their more able bodied dryons clothed themselves in armour of fine metals and hard oaken shields, the nymphs wielded power of a different nature. All of her kin were beauties in their own right. But just as the occasional flowers that broke through the heavy underbrush of the forest floor, they were equally diverse. Christine's hair was long, easily brushing her hips. She had often heard some of the robust men commenting on how much they wished to touch the silken strands—at least, she had gleaned as much as she flitted from the cover of trees that made up her home.

Her eyes were those of her father's, blue and pale. She often wished she had the sparkling green of some of her sisterlings, but she never mentioned so in front of anyone. Envy led to dissention, and it was far nicer to be a merry band of protectors, luring unwelcome folk away from their borders clothed in gossamer silks and primroses.

On this occasion she found Eldared waiting for her at the Main Gate. The large and imposing structure was built between two ancient elms, though it blended with the mossy greenery so completely that unless one knew to look it would nearly pass unnoticed.

"My, Christine, your cheeks are as red as a robin's breast! Has Raghnall finally beseeched you?"

Whatever composure she had mustered quickly fled. "Have we truly been so noticeable?" Discretion was a quality highly favoured, and the notion that their friendship was so widely recognised was almost intolerable.

Her friend laughed airily, herself having bonded four seasons past. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Christine. He is a favourite of your father's, and I am certain the match would be well received." Eldared's eyes narrowed. "Or has he touched you illicitly? You know that is forbidden. He must petition for your hand."

Christine shook her head furiously. Only once had a dryon touched a nymph without first being granted permission. His punishment had been quick and forceful and none had dared do so again.

"He would never. But I fail to see why this is being discussed now! He had made no great overture yet you and my father both seem to think it is inevitable!"

The notion did not displeaseher, but she did not feel quite as enamoured by the idea as she believed she should be. For their kind it was forever—and bonding was never to be taken lightly. Surely that meant she should be confident in her affection for him before giving her consent.

One of the guards standing watch high above the Gate interrupted them when he bellowed, "If you mean to be of use today then please go forth into the forest! Standing about gossiping like two old-growths is no use to anyone!"

Eldared rolled her eyes but obeyed, walking into the morning-light beyond the safety of the High City.

She was one of Christine's favourites to be paired with, as her teasing disposition made the hours pass quickly and with much fun to be had. When she was told to be with one of the youngerlings Christine felt terribly exposed. She was a youth herself and felt completely unprepared to teach others how best to beguile.

It was a rarity that a nymph with a bond-mate should continue in their work, but Eldared had insisted that until she had a seedling of her own, she would be of service.

They strolled through the forest aimlessly, enjoying the brightening skies, though the woods remained shadowed by the heavy trees above them. But occasionally a ray of sun would peek through the trees, and Christine relished the warmth as it fell across her skin.

"Do you think..."

"Hush!"

Christine froze at Eldared's command. Ahead were two hunters, boisterous and loud as they plodded through the woods.

"I'm tellin' ya! There was a buck not twenty paces ahead!"

The other man, clearly his brother based on the strong resemblance, scoffed. "And I'm tellin' _you, _our ma dropped you one too many times when you were a bairn!"

The first man scowled and gave his younger brother a hearty shove. "North. I'm sure of it."

North would lead them to the City. They were not dangerously close, but enough that Eldared nudged Christine softly and gestured for her to make an appearance. Such was one small annoyance since her friend had bonded—more and more often it was Christine who was required to present herself as an offering, while Eldared stayed hidden amongst the trees.

And Christine was confident that she laughed all the while as Christine ran and the men followed.

But such was their task and so with many years of practice, she emerged from the undergrowth, the sunbeam that found her no longer feeling so warm and welcoming as she took in the features of the startled huntsmen.

Every man was different. Some liked a fearful maid who would squeal and dash while he followed in quick pursuit. Others preferred a seductress with luring eyes and bared shoulders that would inevitably come wherever she motioned.

Christine refused to play the latter, though upon one of the more lively occasions she had attempted to do so at the bidding of her sisterlings. She had felt awkward and ridiculous through the entire venture, but she could not deny that the result was effective.

Men were such foolish creatures.

Before she could determine how best to approach them, the younger of the brothers quickly removed his hat. "M'lady! Are you lost?"

Christine smiled softly, always pleased to find a well-mannered man.

The elder of the two slapped his brother's arm roughly, his eyes never leaving her form. "That in't no lady, Aiden! She's a wood-nymph!" His voice lowered but Christine could still clearly hear him. "She'll grant us a wish if we catch her."

Aiden looked at her curiously, and she was pleased to see that his eyes did not darken in that greedy way they often did when the mythical tale of wish-giving was thrown about. Instead he clutched at his hat and bowed, earning yet another cuff from his brother. "I said, she in't a lady! You don't need to be putting on airs to impress her."

His voice rose once more, louder this time as though he thought her hard of hearing. "If you'll just grant us our wish now we won't have to hunt you down!"

Christine's head tilted, and her brow furrowed. "That would defeat the purpose."

And with that, she ran.

It was useless to speak to them as they knew none of the nymphlin tongue, but it always made her feel a bit better—especially when one of them was obviously a sweet young man—to keep to her manners. It felt rude not to engage even a little.

Her father would not approve.

She headed South, leaping nimbly over the small stream that would eventually lead to a larger river downstream.

Christine hesitated, waiting for the sounds of followers before continuing. If the younger brother could not be convinced to give chase there was little point in abandoning both of them as they could continue to hunt closer, defeating the purpose of her task.

But the elder brother seemed to hold much sway over Aiden and soon the sounds of their search grew loud. "This way!"

Eldared peeked out from behind a nearby oak, her smile wide as she made a great performance of scattering the underbrush and twigs to reveal a false trail. Generally their race did not leave traces as they moved throughout the forest, but it appeared her friend was providing her some respite from the chase as this would allow for her to cease their game early— and without her having to make any more appearances to keep them in pursuit. If they did indeed continue as Eldared led them the guards would turn most of their attention to her friend, keeping her secure as the men were led safely from the City.

Christine could not help but giggle, her laughter carrying through the stillness of the trees as they answered her in kind.

_Run; do not let them find you!_

_Such a pretty nymph!_

_There is a squirrel chewing on my bark._

She revelled in the feel of the breeze as it caused tickles of hair to whisper across her skin and the way it sent billows of silk about her legs as she ran.

There was a joy to be found in this task, even if she pitied the men she deceived.

So lost was she in the bright spring morning that she was only vaguely aware the small glen she entered and of the buck a short ways to her left.

And then a brief whistle met her ears.

And then pain.

Blinding pain that stopped her short as it seared through her shoulder.

Pain that caused her to stumble and fall to the soft grasses below, clutching at the joint as she watched the liquid being to ooze from a wound that most assuredly had not been there before.

She had never felt such pain.

And dumbly, she thought that her blood would ruin her lovely gown.

An arrow was lodged deep within her flesh, and she stared at it in horror for a moment longer before releasing a long keen.

Where were the guards?

Where was Eldared?

Surely they had not all continued on with the trespassers.

But there was only one person emerging from the neighbouring wood, and it was not the comforting presence of her kin.

It was a man, taller than she had ever seen before.

He was dressed all in iron, a helm upon his head that concealed his face. It was darker than the pale silver that the dryon wore on occasion, nearing black in its appearance.

And then she knew fear.

Because with the pain of her shoulder and the blood that still steadily flowed, she knew she could not run.

He walked steadily closer, his demeanour and presence a startling contrast to the peaceful beauty of the trees.

_Run, little nymph!_

_To touch him brings death!_

_Poor thing,.._

The trees lamented and Christine's breath grew shallow. "Please, do not come closer!"

He did not heed her and she tried her best to rise from the ground and flee. If only she could make it to the trees there was a chance she could escape.

For this was her home and she did not wish to be parted from her kin due to the actions of one man.

The hunter hesitated a moment longer, dropping his bow to the ground and pulling off the leather gloves that encased his hands.

And lastly he removed his helm.

She scurried back further, terrified that he would attempt to heal her.

For one could not heal without a touch.

And to touch would mean a bond—a bond that was forbidden.

Perhaps it was the loss of blood that made her head feel so strange, but as she glanced at his face, clouded by pain and terror as she did so, she thought him one of the most horrid looking men she had ever seen.

But before she could ponder such things further, she saw a pale, long-fingered hand reach toward her and it took every bit of her waning sensibilities to gasp, "Please, do not touch me..." before she knew no more.

* * *

Sooo... Let it be known that I had not intended to post this yet. Once again I planned on actually _finishing _a project before posting it but... a plea for posting while my brain is befuddled on cold medicine apparently is quite effective! So here it is. You can all blame _FP33 _for this. Quite different from my previous work, but I hope enjoyable all the same!

Just a few details. I never know about ratings. As of now this story stands at a T rating but because I have not completed it I cannot guarantee that it will remain that way. I can promise you tastefulness and a lack of... most offensive verbiage, and shall give ample warning beforehand should a rating change need to take place, but... yeah, that's what I can offer.

So for now, please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Greetings readers, new and... experienced! (Because that's a nicer word than old, right?) A special thank you to those who reviewed, I greatly appreciate any and all feedback—especially if you catch typos! Also, let it be known that updates shall henceforth be on Mondays and Thursdays (the same schedule as _A Rose in Winter_ for those who followed that as well).

And now, onward!

* * *

II

Erik was not a kind man.

Despite the armour he wore he was no true knight. He worked for kings, it was true, but not in any capacity that a more moral individual would call reputable. Assassinations were a lucrative enterprise, and one he very nearly took pride in. He was creative, not indulging in the grisly business of simply running his sword through an unsuspecting victim—that was saved for tournaments. No, he preferred poisons, or, if he could not be certain of the precision of that particular device, he would employ a lasso.

Not many in this realm used such a device, but it proved a highly effective method of dispatching whatever foe proved dangerous for whichever king.

Erik swore no vows of fealty—not to any of the bastards that considered themselves lords over other men.

He would take their coin, whether in swordplay against one of their fair knights or due to his more morose skills, but he felt no loyalty for any of them. Some were better than others, but all thought themselves more capable, more wise, and therefore able to make decisions for those who had the misfortunate of lesser birth.

And none were of lower birth than he.

He came from a noble family, one of the oldest in the kingdom of his birth, but he was not recognised by any. Hidden away as a child, mocked and branded as a product of demonic influence, he learned quickly that it would only be by his skills that he should survive long in the world.

So learn he did.

Sword, bow, lasso, each he fostered until he was certain that none could hurt him—at least, not in the physical sense. He wandered from one kingdom to the next, earning money and squandering it just as easily in taverns, drinking away the memories of an unhappy life.

For he had no true home.

As the firstborn male he should rightfully have claimed his ancestral home and the title that accompanied it. But the scorn of his father and the subsequent hatred of his mother due to his disfavour soured him toward any of their possessions. Let whatever ill-fated child that came to them afterward enjoy the spoils, for he would take none of it.

He had enough coin for whatever he liked, but he kept to a small cottage. It had a warm fire and a comfortable bed, serviceable enough for the likes of him.

But what he liked best was the fine lyre that resided in a corner, and had frightened away the whispers of loneliness and despair that came from a life such as his.

On this occasion, however, he was on an errand. It was thirty leagues to his intended destination, and while he was never one to eat much—cooking was never one of his fonder pursuits, especially not when he could purchase warm stew and a pint of fine ale—today he found himself particularly hungry. The Wemble Road was not one often used, but that was the reason he preferred it. The issue, however, was that only tiny villages and farmlands could be found along it, and he was not the sort to be welcomed by a family, no matter how many shillings he could provide.

So he followed the trail of a deer, for much longer and deeper into the dense forest than he would have liked, but game was scarce as winter was only just now giving way to spring. The woods unnerved him. While he did not fear man nor foe, there was something _odd _about this forest in particular. On many occasions he had heard tall tales of creatures who lived within them, beautiful girls who liked to take sport against the likes of unsuspecting men.

It was all nonsense.

But as he now took aim, a large buck a short distance away in a small clearing, he could not deny that a sense of foreboding overcame him.

And as he released a calming breath, his eye carefully on the target and his fingers freed the arrow, he was entirely unprepared for a silent woman to appear from the trees beyond and his arrow to find purchase, not in his dinner, but in the soft flesh of her shoulder.

Erik might not have been a kind man, but he did not make it habit of harming innocent women who had the misfortune of crossing his path.

He watched her slip and fall, and though part of him screamed to run to her side and offer assistance, the other was deathly aware that the woman he had harmed could not possibly be real.

She was too beautiful.

Too unearthly beautiful.

He had struck an angel.

And if he had not been damned before to the blackest pits of hell, he most assuredly was now.

Yet despite his reticence, he could not simply allow her to perish on the forest floor. He was not entirely certain of where the arrow had struck her, and if he should have killed her...

He strode forward, bow still in hand.

Only for her to try her best to creep away from him.

He ignored the sting of pain at her action.

Of course she was frightened of him. He was an imposing figure at best, and a devilish one at worst.

Though he was loath to reveal his face to this beauty, he needed to better see to assess the severity of her wound. She visibly shuddered as she took in his features, and he could clearly see the arrow protruding horrifically from her shoulder, the point clearly visible through the opposite side. He removed his gloves, prepared to begin the work of excising the shaft from her lovely body.

But what cut him to the quick was her imploring plea to leave her undefiled, as if someone who looked as he did was obviously intent on doing her the ultimate harm.

And the anger burned even as he watched her eyes flicker closed as she fainted away.

Perhaps another man would have taken advantage—seen the pale skin, hair longer than he had ever seen, and the prone form that would offer no objection and taken what was not willingly offered.

He was many things, but he was no raper.

And though it was ridiculous in the extreme, it still hurt him terribly that she should think him so.

At least he would not have to stare into her frightened and imploring eyes as he tended to her. Whether she wished for his aid or not, he would provide it. It was his error that saw her hurt. He would mend her as best he could and then leave her to return from whence she came.

_Heaven._

He shook his head in disgust.

Her blood was not like any he had seen. It was pale, and it nearly glistened with a luminescence that unnerved him.

It almost resembled sap, but he shook away such nonsensical thinking immediately. She was no angel, nor a goddess. She was a poor girl who had the misfortune to encounter him.

And she would not pay for that with her life.

He was unprepared for what happened when he allowed his fingertips to assess the wound.

She gasped loudly though her eyes remained closed. A tingling erupted in his fingertips and he nearly tasted despair as her face grew ashen, as though whatever force had coaxed life into her veins had suddenly fled from her.

She had told him not to touch her.

He had not listened.

Erik had little time to ponder what her words could possibly have further implied as her strangely coloured blood still oozed, sticky and cloying as his fingers did their best to close the ragged edges of her injury. He quickly pulled a blade from his belt and removed the arrowhead from its shaft, morbidly grateful that it had gone through cleanly so he should not have to cause her all the more pain of damaging more of her precious tissues.

And for the first time since he could remember he whispered a prayer that she would not awaken from the pain, and pulled the shaft free, pressing tightly as fresh blood bubbled up around his fingers.

"I am so sorry, angel."

Remorse was not a feeling of which he was well acquainted. Anger honed his senses and fuelled his strength into something productive.

Generally killing.

Remorse made him fumble with the edge of his under tunic until he could tear of a piece long enough to bind her shoulder. The dress she wore was nearly transparent in its quality and he had to purposely keep his gaze focused on his task to keep from checking to see if it sufficiently covered her endowments.

Shame was rapidly replacing remorse.

But before he bound the wound he poured a generous portion of spirits onto both sides of the gash, hoping it would prove sufficient in cleansing.

She seemed too pure for any ailment to dare take hold, but it was best to be cautious.

Her eyelids flickered as he wrapped the makeshift bandage about her shoulder—and did he imagine that a bit of colour was already returning to her cheeks?

Erik did not care about many earthly comforts, but he did have a fondness for finer fabrics. Silks and soft linens were his wont, as he liked the feel much better than some of the harsh cottons as they rubbed at his sensitive flesh underneath his armour.

Yet the ripped piece of tunic looked like the shabbiest of garments when compared to her gown.

Now that he had tended to her as best he could he allowed himself a moment to assess the rest of her, perhaps so he could ascertain where this maiden had originated.

He firmly shoved away any thought that she was anything but mortal.

He was not prone to irrational fancies.

The ignorant townsfolk, most of them barely literate would weave fantastical stories of what inhabited these woods—elves, sprites, and above all, the infamous dryads that could grant wishes if you found them.

All of it utter nonsense.

But as he allowed his finger to trace over the material of her gown—had he ever felt something so soft?—and gazed at the splendour before him, he thought if any could be mistaken for a nymph it would be her.

"Shall you grant me a wish, nymph? Will you make your attacker handsome, perhaps?"

She did not stir, nor give any recognition that she had heard him.

A lock of hair had caught upon the moisture of her lips and with trembling fingers he brushed it away with his thumb. It was a liberty he immediately regretted as a shudder of _something _ran through him as he came into contact with the rosebud mouth that he suddenly wished to press against his own.

Which was absurd. He did not _kiss _maidens, no matter how lovely.

He wished she would awaken. Or perhaps he wished that some of her kin would appear and take away the burden of her care. He had done this to her, but with the _feelings _she elicited, he thought it much safe for her to be tucked away with whatever family she possessed than to remain in his company much longer.

But none came and she continued to sleep.

Yes, he would call it sleep.

It was much better than to consider her unconscious.

Time passed and he continued to wait. Wait for a sign of life.

Wait for a sign that he had not killed her.

Eventually he heard his horse emerge from the woods, evidently tiring of standing about waiting for his master. Erik could not fault him, especially as he was grateful for his presence as it was apparent he would be making camp in the glen for the night.

His stomach made a noise of disapproval as he would go yet another night without meat, but he refused to dwell on that for any significant duration. He would make do with what was left of the hard cheese and biscuits. He pondered whether he should risk leaving her in order to start a fire, but as the day wore on and rapidly turned to night, he realised that it would be foolish not to provide her what warmth he could.

The dress she wore certainly would not offer her any relief from the crisp night air.

Erik started a fire, using whatever wood lay about. He briefly considered hacking a few larger branches from the trees overhead, but decided against it. The strange feeling he had about this wood, this girl, had not abated, so he made due with whatever was loose about the ground.

Eventually a fire crackled pleasantly in the small pit he had created, and he undid his bedroll from the horse's saddle and laid it close enough to the flames so as to be pleasantly warm, but not so close as to cause discomfort.

For while he appreciated the comfort of his own provisions—what man did not?—there would be a maiden sleeping there tonight and he would offer her what he could.

He did not generally make it a habit to remove his armour while exposed in the woods, but if he was to spend a hard night on the forest floor he would not add harsh metal cutting into his every joint. Removing it was always a tedious process, and not for the first time he cursed his lack of squire to aid the process. But squires and attendants were for true knights who had earned the favour of their kings.

And he would not engage in such hypocrisy.

For he knew of knights who had a thirst for killing—who swore vows of chivalry and yet dishonoured many a maiden simply because he was larger and stronger.

And yet they were given lands and commendations for performing the same duty as he, conquering and claiming victories, whether it was on the battlefield or a tournament.

Piece by piece he removed his armour, flexing each newly freed appendage, grateful for the heavy weight to fall away. He did not wear it for fear of being bested on the road. He wore it for appearances. He wore it because the darkness of it, the crest emblazoned on the breastplate struck fear upon those he met.

And he wore it for it covered the worst of his failings with little question being raised as to why he rarely removed his helm.

In addition, while his height distinguished him from other men, his actual frame would do little to inspire dread in his enemies. He was strong to be sure, but he lacked the rippling muscles that so readily displayed physical power.

He comforted himself with that idea that perhaps by so disarming himself he would not appear so intimidating to _her._ She would undoubtedly fear him—had shown that she _already _feared him—and surely she could find some comfort knowing he was just as any other.

But with a dry mouth he reached once more into the saddlebag and pulled out his mask.

He only wore it when he was without his helm, not bothering to wear both at once. To do so created conditions that were dreadful for his sensitive flesh, and he found that the itching and irritation that it caused was not worth the added security should some unlucky soul be witness to his visage.

Even he was allowed to be fastidious regarding his personal care, ugly though he might be.

All his armour removed and carefully nestled beneath the overhang of a large oak, he took a bracing breath before moving toward the girl. She had yet to move and he would not deny that it unsettled him. He firmly reminded himself that for her to stir and moan would likely indicate the presence of fever, so this cold sleep should be considered a blessing.

But he still felt the edges of death about her as he leaned forward and scooped her into his arms, delivering her to the soft bed of furs that would hopefully coax her into a healing rest she could soon wake from.

Erik tried not to let himself think of how she felt in his arms.

He most especially tried not to allow himself to consider a very different way in which he could be taking her to his bed.

Instead, he was careful not to jostle her shoulder overly much, and tucked the furs around her gently. And from her stillness he could not help but press two long fingers to her throat in search of a pulse.

His digits still tingled strangely from the contact, nearly burning in its intensity. But instead of the visceral reaction to pull away from a scorching encounter, he felt the need for _more_.

Erik lurched away from her.

Her pulse had been thready but present.

Which should have provided more reassurance than it did.

From the location of the injury he never would have presumed it to be fatal. But this little creature seemed too slight that perhaps she could succumb to such a wound.

He determined not to sleep but to remain watchful. She would come to no other harm, and should her kinsman finally come in search of her it was best he be awake to defend himself. Erik liked to think he would submit to them and whatever justice they demanded, but he should at the very least like to explain what steps he had taken for her care before they eviscerated him.

At least, he hoped that should an encounter take place he could _allow _himself to submit to their reasonable quest for vengeance.

He was not always the best at allowing physical harm to befall him, not at the hand of another.

Although used to sleepless nights he found himself jerking awake just as the first rays of sun began to pierce through the tangled branches above.

And found two eyes blinking at him with an expression he could not quite decipher.

She was awake.

And though it was perhaps absurd, Erik was terrified.

"Hello. You must be my bond-mate."

* * *

Sooo... she's awake! But really, it's not as though anyone thought she actually had died. Although Erik certainly was worried about it for a bit there... Silly man. Like a little arrow could have killed her!

Please take a moment to review—you shall be rewarded with a snippet from next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Not much to say... so I'll just give a quick thank you to my readers and reviewers... you are all so wonderfully encouraging!

Onward!

* * *

III

He had not heeded her, that much was clear.

As soon as she had come back to awareness she felt _different. _

Eldared had once tried to explain to her the feeling of bonding—not the act that followed of course, as that was wholly private—but merely the startling awareness that a part of yourself now resided with another.

Christine had not been able to comprehend what that could have meant, but now as she managed to sit up, hissing softly at the pain still residing deep within her shoulder, she _knew _that she had been sealed to this strange man.

She had been dreaming—a rarity for her kind. She saw her tree, tucked safely away behind the guarded barricade of the High City, and nestled beneath the towering maple of her father's— a barren place beside it where her mother's should have been as it had long since shrivelled away. She felt as a spectre, staring as her tree wasted away and what buds of new growth and flowers had finally begun to burst forth withered and fell to the forest floor.

And she had cried and wept for she knew that meant death, for it was tied to her as she was tied to it.

Her father had come and her pain only multiplied as she witnessed his grief, her usually stoic yet oh so kind father reduced to sobs as he knelt beneath the decaying tree of his daughter, much as he had done his mate's.

She saw it all and waited for death to take her.

And yet instead of the never-ending blackness she expected, she had awoken to find this man slumped beside her, his eyes closed even as the rest of his face was obscured by a mask.

None of the other hunters she had ever encountered wore such a thing, and as she cast her mind back she recalled the brief glimpse of what lie beneath it.

She grimaced.

He was not fair to look upon. In truth, his features were hard to describe. Surely she had been so blinded by pain and terror that she distorted a perfectly normal face into something macabre—but that did not explain the mask he currently wore.

Christine glanced down at her fingers, recognising a subtle tingling in the tips that she had never experienced before.

And though his presence should have horrified her—should have made her creep away as best she could before he woke as she begged the elders to allow her to return—she almost wished to see if touching the few pale slivers of his flesh that were visible would somehow abate the feeling.

But before she could try it, his head suddenly jerked and his gaze fell upon her.

Her mouth felt dry as he stared, but it felt rude not to acknowledge him—especially not when she considered what he was to her now.

He did not respond to her greeting, only continued to blink at her. She had always thought her aptitude for man's language was suitable, but he almost seemed as though he did not understand. So she tried again. "I am sorry if I caused offense." Her heart clenched when she considered precisely _why _she had implored him to let her alone. She would cry later, she knew. She would weep for what she had lost, but for now she felt it important for her to come to know this man—her bond-mate.

Her apology seemed to shake him from his stupor, and she was relieved to find that her words proved intelligible. "What on earth are you apologising for, nymph?"

Her eyes widened. "When I told you not to touch me. Seeing as we are now sealed I do not want you to think I am angry." Not for that. Not for any of it, really. He could not have known. But if he recognised her for what she truly was that mean he had...

She blushed deeply. "Was I pleasing to you?"

Her shoulder throbbed terribly but she could not feel any different elsewhere, aside from the tingling of her fingertips that continued to prove distracting. She did not know why she asked the question, but it somehow seemed important. If men believed that it was their right after catching a nymph to bed them, and he was now her bond-mate, perhaps if she had pleased him sufficiently he would prove kind and amiable in future.

He stared at her in astonishment, his eyes narrowing in... anger?

"You think that I raped you while you slept? That because you managed to get between my bow and my supper that I somehow wish you harm?"

Her head tilted. "Harm? But most of the men believe if you catch a nymph that is their right. As my bond-mate it is also your right."

He laughed suddenly, the sound not at all the merry resonance she was used to. "You are not _actually _a nymph, girl, so why would that be my right? You are pretty I suppose, but not a mythical creature."

The words stung, sharp and angry and though tears welled she told herself resolutely she should not allow herself to shed them. If she was to be bound to a human, why could it not be that sweet Aiden? He seemed to have great kindness in him.

And, if she could allow such honesty, her vanity was offended that he should only _suppose _her pretty. If she was to lose everyone she had ever loved, she should at the very least be allowed to comfort herself with her bond-mate! Not be ridiculed.

But despite her best efforts she felt wetness leak from her eyes and she brushed them away hurriedly, forgetting for a moment her injury. She hissed in pain, finally noticing the tight bandaging that concealed the wound. Christine touched the fraying threads thoughtfully, noticing it was the same colour that the man wore.

She peeked at him once more, frowning at the realisation that he had torn a piece of his tunic so as to care for her.

Surely that meant he felt _something _for her.

She would cling to what hope she could. "Your tunic is torn."

The man blinked, glancing downward at the ragged hem. "So it is. I am not in the habit of patching up young maidens in the woods. I used what I could," he added, almost defensively.

She nodded, not feeling at all prepared to cope with a mate who bordered on discourteous. Her head felt muddled and her heart ached, not to mention her shoulder which still protested fiercely that she had not managed to be seen by one of the healers.

"I had thought you would be kinder." Christine had not meant to speak the words aloud, but to her horror she realised she had done so.

She was young yet to have been sealed, but whenever she had pictured her future life with a dryon he was always gentle and tender with her. This man seemed brash and cold—not at all what she would have chosen. Nymphs saved most of their affections for their mates. Simple touches between parents were encouraged to hold true the initial bonds, but it was only with their mates that they fully knew the physical comforts of another.

And this man did not seem as though he would ever be receptive to her desires.

But he was all she would ever have.

Her heart ached all the more.

He stiffened, rising to his feet. She rapidly remembered her previous thought that she had never seen one taller than he, and as he loomed above her she felt even smaller. She was slight for a dryad. Her tree had been a dogwood, not one of the larger and imposing trees that belonged to her kin, but one known for its beauty in springtime. She was not the strongest, nor the wisest. And before this man, she felt very weak and foolish indeed.

"I am sorry to disappoint you then, madam, but I would never have suggested otherwise. You obviously shall not perish so I shall leave you to find your way back to whatever family you separated from."

The ache in her heart multiplied tenfold, and she clutched at it desperately even as she reached for him. "No! You do not understand!"

His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. "I can unequivocally state that I have understood little since encountering you. But no maid would be wandering the woods alone so you are hardly my responsibility."

There was the barest twitch at his throat that gave her hope that perhaps he was not as cruel-hearted as he seemed. "I can never return."

He crossed his arms. "Why?"

She resented this. She resented that this man—her _bond-mate_—had ruined every dream she had since she was but a seedling. How many times had she imagined that her dryon would take her into his arms, press his forehead against hers as they stared at one another, simply absorbing the feeling of unity that only their sealing could provide?

And yet instead of such a gentle embrace, he was scowling at her and making her feel even more wretched.

Because with a startling revelation she realised he was perfectly serious.

He meant to leave her.

It never occurred to her that he would not feel it too—would be immune to the effects of the bond and would actually consider abandoning her all alone.

"Because you _touched _me. I told you not to! If you had but listened..." The tears gave way to the anger she felt, and she struggled to her feet.

She was a nymph, not quite fully grown, and she refused to be intimidated by the man who should protect her above all things. There must be some honour in him.

He scoffed. "So because a man such as me _dared _to help an injured girl you shall be shunned for all eternity? I pity you for your relations then, madam!"

How he could infuse such a title with such sarcastic ire she did not know.

Her thoughts strayed once more to sweet Aiden's stuttered _m'lady_ and wished not for the first time that it was he who had done this.

She took a calming breath as the racing of her heart only made the throbbing of her shoulder grow fiercer. And when she did her stomach gave the strangest of sounds and she looked down at in astonishment. "What was that?"

The man looked at her incredulously. "You are hungry. You have not eaten in nearly a day."

Her head tilted curiously. "You can speak to it? What else did it say?"

He blinked at her. "I cannot tell if you are in earnest but I can assure you, I have little tolerance for ridiculous games." With that he rifled through a bag at his side and pulled out a round... something, and held it out to her.

"What is it?" She inspected it closely and could see little bits of seeds and grains within it, but could not identify the rest.

"A biscuit. One of the few I have left," he added begrudgingly. "I would have had meat to offer but _someone _interfered with my hunt. Eat it quickly and then we shall part ways."

"I did not intend for you to pierce me! And I already apologised." She tore off a crumb of the _biscuit _and eyed it warily before eventually placing it in her mouth. "I have never eaten before," she murmured quietly, not truly to him.

She was entirely unprepared for him to stride quickly toward her as he began pulling at her hair, massaging fingers through it. For a moment she revelled in the thought that he _finally _felt something and was about to express his joy at their bonding, but the fingers were not at all tender and instead probed and searched—again, for what she did not know.

She was tired of not knowing.

"You must have injured your head when you fell. You cannot possibly be as foolish as you seem."

The words stung her and she jerked away from him, her biscuit still clutched in her hands, the small piece strange and dry in her mouth though she swallowed it thickly. "The only injury I suffered was to my shoulder! Why must you be so cruel?"

Her anger was waning, and she sank against the grasses, wishing for nothing more than to be tucked away in her _adar's _tree. Hers was not yet large enough to climb so she always found respite in his own sturdy branches. He would laugh from the forest floor, beseeching her to come down and speak with him, but she would eventually coax him to come settle with her amongst the large and steady limbs. Many a night was spent there, and she found herself crying at the loss.

He would be so lonely now.

And this was all her fault.

The man was staring at her again, this time looking flustered and ill at ease with her display of emotion. "What is your name?"she managed to ask between sobs.

Whether he acknowledged it or not, they were bound for the rest of their lives, and names were important.

Christine's own name was not a common one amongst the realm. Her _adar _had always said she took after her _amé_, as her mother had a compassion for the little human children she would meet. It was one such child that was her namesake as her mother had saved her from a blizzard one winter's eve, leading the child's mother to her daughter who had become lost in the woods.

Her father had been furious, reminding her of the dangers, but her _amé _had not relented.

And apparently from that moment onward she knew she wished for a little seedling of her own.

She died only a few seasons later, a fungus taking hold in her tree's roots that could not be vanquished, no matter how the healers tried.

The man sighed, rifling through the bag once more, though she suspected he searched simply to avoid looking at her. "Erik. Not that it is any concern of yours."

Erik. She tasted the name on her lips and decided she did not find it unpleasant. Her tears were abating, and to her deep surprise Erik was holding out a scrap of cloth. "Dry your eyes, nymph. You will go home. You will explain that what transpired was no fault of your own. If they have any love for you at all they shall accept you."

"Christine," she murmured. "That is my name, and it is of great concern to you that you know it."

He gave no indication that he had heard her, but she held the cloth with trembling hands, grateful for this first sign of true courtesy.

Erik rolled his eyes, though she still caught him glancing at her periodically. "They shall not, you know, and it is not from a lack of love. My _adar _loves me very much and he shall miss me terribly."

She swallowed thickly, determined not to give way to more tears. "To bond with a human is forbidden. I should be dead..."

He stared at her disbelievingly. "They would kill you for being with me?"

She gasped, horrified at whatever barbaric culture he hailed from that such would be his immediate thought. "Of course not! But my tree... it should not have survived. I cannot live without my tree."

Erik huffed in annoyance. "You speak in riddles, nymph, and I do not appreciate it. Unless you speak plainly I shall take my leave."

"You call me nymph and yet do not believe me! What more shall I do to prove it to you?"

Her fingers were still clutching the biscuit but she could not bring herself to take another bite—not while he was glaring with her barely veiled hostility. "Take me to this tree."

She blanched. Of all the things for him to ask, it had to be what was most impossible. Yet that portion of her that recognised him as her mate pulsed with a desire to do as he asked, no matter the consequence, merely because he had asked it.

Christine tried to remember the way to the High City. Her home was... North, was it not? She had crossed the stream, and...

Her mind groped for the familiar paths that led to her tree, the way she had known for the entirety of her life and found her memories muddled.

She panicked.

She dropped the biscuit on the forest floor and hurried over to a nearby birch, lacing her hand on the silvery trunk as she closed her eyes.

Where once she would have heard the gentle whispers of comfort from a friend, she was met with silence. While once it would have mingled with the cacophony of its kin as they made a path for her should she ever become lost, there was nothingness.

Christine had never felt so alone.

"I cannot."

And it horrified her that the words were true, not only from a sense of duty to protect her kind—where they still her kin, even now?—but instead because she could not find the way even if she made the attempt.

She knelt before the tree, her forehead pressed against the bark in a harsh mimicry of the affection she so long desired from her mate. She tried to speak to it, to recall the nymphlin speech that allowed for the communion with the trees and found that even that was thick and slow upon her tongue. Terror clutched at her throat threatening to drown her in its intensity as the magnitude of what had occurred became all the more clear.

She was alone.

She was losing all she had ever held dear.

And her bond-mate did not care.

There was rustling behind her and she found that Erik had changed his tunic and had begun the process of donning the armour she had first seen him in. Each piece served as a barrier as her heart cried out to his, but he continued to pack away his things regardless of the despair she felt.

Any other mate would have felt it equally, yet hers either felt no such bond or simply did not care.

For then he released a low whistle and a horse emerged from the woods beyond. And she felt a numbness settle over her as he tied his bags to the saddle and turned to give her one last look. "Be safe, nymph. And tell no more lies."

And then he was gone, and she gave in to the utter desolation that followed.

* * *

Sooo... who is annoyed at Erik? By show of hands? His perspective coming up next time! Maybe he has a decent reason for leaving... yeeaahhh... suuurre...

Please take a moment to review and express your outrage!


	4. Chapter 4

Warning! This chapter includes moments wherein Erik has been described by my lovely Beta (_Honey Jenkins_) and my pre-reader/chapter hostage negotiator (_FP33) _as a "brute" and a "blockhead" respectively. Continue at your own risk!

Onward!

* * *

IV

She accused him of unkindness when she was the one who would toy with his heart!

He did not know that a girl could cry so prettily. He had seen pillaged villages after the cusp of war had ravaged them, and the guttural sobs that the fresh widows had emitted left them red faced and _oozy. _

But not the maiden he had left behind.

He had not even asked her name—she had been forced to supply it in a whisper he had almost ignored.

She was pale and tragic and left him nearly breathless as he witnessed her despair.

And just as oddly, he almost wished he could do something to alleviate her pain.

Erik had expected to feel relieved as he mounted his horse and left her there, sobbing as she was as she knelt against the towering birch, the perfect picture of maidenly piety.

He was never one for empathy. The men he had killed—and a few women too if truth be told—meant little to him. None were pure or worthy of his compassion, so it seemed absurd to waste his own emotions by allowing himself to _feel _for them. Whether they had crossed him due to insult or because of some misguided treachery against a king he felt no loyalty to, the coin was good and the work tested his skill and ingenuity.

And he did so like a challenge.

But as he rode farther away until he could no longer hear her, he found that he left a piece of him behind.

Which was absolutely ridiculous.

Erik was not a romantic man. He had long since given up any idiotic notions of love—being scorned by every woman he had met made that particular lesson easy to learn, yet no less disheartening.

She called him her _bond-mate. _She was too practiced, too perfect for him to be her first victim. She knew just how many tears to let fall to arouse a man's pity, and enough girlish naivety to make him crave to protect her. But surely it was all a farce and he was not one to be made a fool.

Especially when she tried to convince him that she was in fact the nymph he had called her.

Ridiculous.

So true to form he had been gruff and surly, even as he firmly tamped down the immediate regret that followed as her face crumpled from his rejection.

Oh yes, she was very well versed in the art of manipulating men.

Then why was he tempted to believe her?

A part of him, long buried by the pain and rejection of his own, thought her genuine. It cried out with abandon that he had left a piece of his very _soul _at the foot of that wild birch and he was making a dreadful mistake in leaving her.

He shook away such thoughts.

She had a family. She would explain to them the circumstances of her injury and everything would be righted.

Perhaps if she showed signs of bruising, of some form of abuse that she suffered at their hands, he would be more inclined to believe they would spurn her for having been in contact with him. But she was well cared for—better than any princess in any of the kingdoms he had visited. The silk alone...

He groaned as he recalled that the softness of the silk dulled in comparison to the small bits of flesh he had allowed himself to touch. He could tell from her expression that he had slighted her when he merely deemed her _pretty._ She was the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld—but he would not appeal to her vanity by fawning over her like some love-sick boy.

And so he left.

He left her and he would silence any protest within his mind by focusing on the task before him.

Monavyn was not a large kingdom. Its wealth came mostly from the fine wools that were traded feely amongst its neighbours. Erik did not know precisely why he had been called to dispense with this particular nobleman. Perhaps he had begun brewing unrest throughout the court, demanding his serfs expand the pasturelands, regardless of whether or not they were his. Perhaps he had encroached too far and the plump and jolly king had done nothing to censure him, so Erik had been called to right the injustice of those he had wronged.

Erik did little to question the reasoning behind the commission. So often the reason was insipid and stupid, and enquiring only resulted in his further disgust with those who claimed the right to rule. But even so, assassination in an abstract manner did save lives—or at least, whenever Erik's conscience was prickled he reminded himself thusly. Should both kings attempt to reason amongst themselves discord could be the ultimate result which inevitably led to war. By quickly and quietly dispatching with the offending party, such an event would be circumvented and trade could continue unimpeded.

It mattered little.

But focusing on his charge steadied him, and it was with renewed purpose that he coaxed his horse back toward Wemble Road.

The sooner he was away from the cursed forest, the better.

He could do without meat for a while longer, and he was determined to travel far away from this place.

He did not stop for a morning meal, but instead fumbled through the saddlebag until he grasped a biscuit.

His stores were sadly low, and losing one to the girl had not helped matters.

The feeling of shame at leaving her flared anew, but he ignored it. He did not have much to offer her as it was. He gave her what food he could spare, a strip from his own tunic for a bandage, and even a handkerchief! Nothing else could possibly be expected of him.

Some could even have called him gallant for his efforts.

He scoffed openly at that.

Perhaps not gallant. But he had not taken advantage of her vulnerability, nor had he made her suffer too long in his presence—and certainly that counted for something.

Though he was loath to do it, he raised the faceplate of his helm so he could quickly devour the biscuit. He would have liked to have taken his time so as to better have appeased his stomach, but his discomfort at allowing his face to be exposed overrode any such attempt at gentility.

He shook his head ruefully. No one would confuse him with a gentleman.

When he swallowed the last of the dry biscuit and took a swig of his flask—he most certainly would drink spirits in the morning, gentility be damned—he was entirely unprepared for his horse to suddenly rear. It was only his experience with the beast that allowed him to keep his seat, his thighs gripping firmly to keep from flying onto the ground below.

There was someone in the road, a bow stretched taut and pointed directly at his heart.

"I shall kill you for what you did to her, you filth!"

Conceivably he should have been frightened. The man—though Erik had to assess him thoroughly to make such a determination—did indeed appear furious. He was not dressed as other men, and Erik was vaguely aware that the same unearthly quality that surrounded the girl held true to the male before him. His hand did not tremble as it held the arrow steady, all the more concerning that he was perfectly serious in his declaration.

But fear was far from him. His blood sang at the prospect of distraction, the lust for violence—to feel anger instead of the accursed shame and compassion that the girl inspired a ready consolation.

Erik dismounted, though he knew his height gave him the advantage should he choose to charge. A quick slice with his broadsword would have proved sufficient, and he was fairly confident he could deflect any attack should the man choose to prove so discourteous.

"I regret to inform you that I know not to whom you refer. Have I wronged some lady of your acquaintance?"

The man's eyes narrowed in anger. "She was to be _mine._ We knew each other as seedlings, and you took her from me!"

Seedlings?

Erik could not help but laugh.

"I am not certain what pretty games you played as children, but I can assure you I did nothing to any lady. There was indeed a maid that I helped in the woods but I made no claim on her."

His fingers twitched even as he debated whether or not to draw his sword or make use of the rope hanging from his horse's side. So many dismissed the object as a lead, obviously ignorant that a well trained beast would not wander from where its master had left it. But so much the better, as few expected it to fly from the saddle and embrace their necks in a deathly embrace.

For the first time the man's anger seemed to bubble into rage, his hands finally trembling slightly as he drew a hiss of breath. "You did not claim Christine? You _bonded _with her!"

Erik shrugged, even as he ignored the way he relished the confirmation of her name. She had uttered it so lowly before that he had to guess that he had heard correctly—and he had not been about to ask her to repeat it. "So she also stated. But I made her no vow so I fail to see the issue." His head cocked slightly his finger gliding knowingly to the hilt of his blade and drawing it from its sheath quietly. So blinded by his temper the man did not appear to notice. "I take it you are her lover then. I can assure you, she is relatively unharmed and will be glad of a familiar face."

He ignored the ache that accompanied the words, as he absurdly realised he found the idea of her with this man to be distasteful. He was _not _jealous.

"She was to be my bond-mate, but you had to interfere!"

Erik's patience waned. "You so readily make accusations, but I fail to see the injustice. She is, as I said, awaiting her family in a small glen not three miles from here. If you would just..."

The man scoffed. "You are a fool. You would mistake my Christine for a lowly maiden? She is a _nymph_, the purest and loveliest of them all. And you ruined her with your touch."

That was quite enough. With a large swing of his arm he burst forward, slicing his sword through the air as an arrow skilfully shot toward his heart harmlessly fell to the ground below. Erik raced forward, his hand clenching around the man's neck as he pushed him back against a tree. "Yes, I spoiled your _maid_ with my monstrous touch. I kept from her dying in the woods alone. Perhaps you should not be so quick to pass judgement."

The man choked behind his hand, though to his credit he did not struggle or beg for release. His eyes were still narrowed, though Erik could plainly see that his words had resonated all too strongly.

Good.

He was not solely to blame for the accident.

No clan in their right mind would allow a beauty such as the nymph—_Christine_—to traverse the forest alone. Despite his appearance and occupation there were far worse men in the world than he, and he refused to be bullied about.

He was not a boy any longer.

His grip tightened slightly. "I do not take kindly to being threatened, even by her kin. She will heal, and she shall return home, and I am certain even, to your bed."

His heart clenched at the suggestion, but he fiercely shoved away such weakness. This man had more claim on her than he ever would, and that was as it should be.

He would not pretend he was worthy of her. Already he had stolen too many touches, and her family had a right to be angry.

"If I release you will you swear to leave? Return to her and leave me in peace?"

"You understand nothing! According to nymphlin law she was yours by right and yet you abandon her! You have already proven yourself undeserving. The only way I can hope to free her from your bond is for you to perish!"

Erik's eyes narrowed. "You are serious. She too tried to weave a fanciful tale of magic and bonding, yet you appear as deluded as she is!"

He would never admit it to this man, but already a niggling of doubt had begun to form in his mind. For one who had suffered an injury to concoct such a tale would not be unheard of, but a grown man to also participate...

No. He was a rational being, and to believe such a fantastical story was lunacy.

"Can you not feel her? Even now. A part of your mind must be aware of her despair, her loneliness. That _you _alone have caused. Should you not then sacrifice yourself that she might be free? Free to return to her home, to her father, to her tree..."

_To me _remained unspoken but both men remained fully aware of its presence.

"You would ask me to allow you to kill me," he sneered. "Have you any certainty that by doing so she would be accepted back into whatever kingdom you hail from?"

He blanched, and were those tears in his eyes? "I must try."

Erik scoffed. "You fill me with every confidence. So, you would have me believe that she spoke truly—that she is my _bond-mate_ from now until eternity, simply by a brush of my fingers?"

Said fingers tightened around the man's throat, and he croaked audibly. "_Yes._"

He released him.

Perhaps it was weakness on his part to allow a man to live who openly confessed to wishing for his demise, but as he stared at the long-haired male he knew that if he ever possessed the love of a beauty such as the one he left behind, he too would do all he could to keep her.

But such was not to be, no matter what the law stated from whatever civilisation they hailed from. He resolutely refused to entertain the notion that they were from an entirely different race altogether—it was plausible that they were from a secluded land that practiced such absurd marriage laws that by his offering of aid a poor girl had become his bride.

That did not mean he had to participate.

The man—or was he too a _nymph?_ Erik could not help but scoff at the very idea—rubbed at his throat, his eyes wary but still tinged with anger. He watched him carefully, certain that if he reached for another weapon he would be forced to dispense with him completely, compassion be damned.

"Go. I have work to do and have no intention of caring for your lover, regardless of your ridiculous customs. Speak to your king and I am certain he will be lenient."

Of course, he could be certain of no such thing, as every nobleman who considered himself an almighty authority each had their own particular amount of idiocy. Sometimes it was conceit, sometimes it was an overactive sense of generosity that made them an easy target for swindlers and conquerors, but regardless, the result was the same. Men served them either out of misguided loyalty or of fear, but not with the blindness that they were somehow any more capable of ruling a kingdom.

"Christine must be avenged!" But even as he spoke the man seemed weary, the pain and rage fleeing with only a deep rooted sadness in its wake.

"What is your name?" He was not certain why he inquired; it was not as though he would ever see the man again. But he had found that sometimes people were more malleable when their names were used, and he simply wished to go on his way—preferably without this man following and threatening him again.

"Raghnall, not that you deserve to know it." He tried to sound spiteful, but by the way he grimaced he too realised he merely sounded defeated.

"Raghnall, have you ever killed a man?"

He had the audacity to look offended. At what point did the suggestion of sparing lives become an insult? Erik might have been callous over the right of another to continue breathing, but that did not mean that a green, fresh youth should be ashamed of his lack of experience.

Although now that he considered it, perhaps indeed it was.

"I am well trained with a bow."

"That was not my question. Killing a man changes you, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. If you think me heartless and foolish, I can assure you that my occupation has merely encouraged such propensities. Do not be so quick to wish it for yourself, even for the sake of a maiden."

At the mention of Christine, Raghnall's shoulders drooped and he leaned against a tree, apparently in need of its support—the very same that Erik had used so recently to subdue him.

"She will be so alone. The elders have forbidden us from contacting her, even for a moment. And if you will not tend to her..."

He sighed, wishing for nothing more than to once more be on his horse and miles away from this forest—and most especially its inhabitants. "You would truly prefer she be wed to the likes of me than to know she is alone?"

Raghnall glanced at him, and there was no mistaking the resignation and disgust the crossed his features. "Yes, for I love her. She will die on her own. At least with you she might live."

Erik stared at him a moment longer, considering. He has assumed that by leaving her she would come to her senses and return to her family. But if they would reject her—as evidently they would—he had left a delicate girl completely on her own, with nothing to hunt with or use for shelter.

"Life with me might be worse than death."

Raghnall flinched. "I cannot believe that. Edlar... a friend saw what you did for her—how you cared for her throughout the night. You are capable of kindness." He hung his head, "I would beg you to be kind to her. She is sweetness itself and she does not require a harsh hand."

Erik's ire prickled at the assumption, everyone always so quick to believe him capable of harm simply for the sake of inflicting it.

"I shall consider it."

He did not wait for a response. His mind reeled and he felt some corner of his mind ache with pain and misery, and he knew not how to quiet it. He mounted his horse and when he turned to ensure the stranger had not deceived him and was not even now determined to shoot an arrow through his heart, he discovered that the man was already gone.

And when he urged his horse on with a firm kick he found that instead of heading toward the road toward Monavyn he was returning to the small glen.

But when he arrived the little nymph had gone.

And he had no idea how to ever find her again.

* * *

Sooo... Dryon Raoul makes an appearance! And... tried to avenge Christine. So misguided... Like Erik was ever going to let _that _happen. And speaking of which... someone needs to work on honing their Spidey senses! You have a bond-mate to find!

Please take a moment to review! I so appreciate hearing from all of you, and you shall even be rewarded with snippets from next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

Much to my surprise, many of you came to Erik's defence! Though really, it shouldn't be _that _much of a surprise since… we _are _reading/writing Erik stories for a reason… mostly because we love him and he is therefore perfectly perfect in every way. Right?

Onward!

* * *

V

Weeping was a tiring endeavour.

Not only was she exhausted from the wound, but her heart ached so fiercely that every breath was a torment. Never had she imagined that her future would hold such sorrow. She knew unequivocally that she was in exile, but a part of her hoped that if she remained in the glen a while longer, Eldared or her _adar _would appear and offer her a home. Perhaps not the cosy little nook she had known before, but one nonetheless. She would be alone but they would know she was at least alive and she could say goodbye.

Or maybe, if she waited just a bit longer, her _bond-mate_ might appear.

But neither happened, and as she lay against the birch, too weary and heart-sore to move, she pondered if death would in fact have been a blessing.

Her stomach made that strange sound again and she covered it helplessly with her hand. Erik had said it meant she was _hungry _and in need of nourishment. She sighed deeply. Her tree had always seen to such things. Its roots had plunged deep into the earth and what nutrients it found sustained her perfectly well, with little effort on her part to contribute.

But no more.

Her eyes strayed to the biscuit settled on the soft grass a short ways away from her. She felt yet another pang of hunger and although she was not certain whether it was appropriate to eat off of the ground—but surely most food came from the ground?—she rose and retrieved it.

Perhaps if she was better, prettier, her bond-mate would not have spurned her and even now would be providing her with food. But as it was this would be the only morsel he would ever supply, so she savoured it as best she could.

It was only as she considered falling into a nearby pile of leaves and refusing to stir until she withered and returned to the earth that she stopped herself.

She was not one prone to dour thoughts, and while a tragedy had occurred, she would not give into despair. Her life was forever altered and there was nothing she could do to change the past. Her bond-mate lived, even if he was discourteous and perhaps a bit mean, but he was _hers. _Her _adar _did not have the option of seeking after her _amé, _but she did.

And she would find him.

Before he had translated it for her, she did not know how to speak the language of stomachs. Mayhap it was presumptive of her to assume he would know the intricacies of mating when he was but a man. She could teach him, if only he would listen.

If her years protecting the City afforded one simple lesson, it was that she was well skilled in the art of persuading men.

She found that her resolve resulted in a renewed energy—or was that the biscuit she had eaten? Remaining in the little glen, while safe and almost comforting in its seclusion would not help her. Her mate possessed a horse and could travel much more quickly than she, and she had already wasted far too much time.

There would be no more tears, not for herself and not for her _adar. _He would wish for her to scratch out whatever happiness she could from her current circumstances, not dissolve into hopelessness.

And she would have him be proud of her.

From what she had heard whispered about by the more experienced dryads, bond-mates could _feel _one another, not only their emotions but also their locations. More than once she would be speaking to one of her sisterlings out in the forest when suddenly her mate would appear, bestowing a fond nudge and warm hand in greeting. Christine had smiled and nodded and pretended she understood how they could so easily be found. But now as she closed her eyes and tried to imagine where Erik might have gone, she realised that aside from a vague sense of anger and annoyance, she could not tell which direction she should go.

Their bond was still too new, too untested and ill-forged to offer any great assistance.

She refused to allow her frustration to turn to discouragement, not when her determination was still so fragile.

Walking through the woods without her escorts was disconcerting. The trees did not send out a cheerful _good morrow! _and it was altogether too quiet. While her people were naturally silent as they walked through the underbrush, there was still a feeling that someone was near, ready to offer assistance should it ever be required.

But not now.

She was not naive to the dangers that these forests held. Bears would just now be wakening from their long slumbers, disagreeable to company now that they no longer inhabited their warm dens as they had all winter. For the most part dryads were accepted by the woodland creatures, their senses attributing them more to foliage rather than a threat or meal.

Such would have given comfort if only she could be certain that she still would appear so—already she was losing her memory and physical nature to a more human disposition.

Courage.

She would have courage and all would right itself.

So she plunged ahead into the forest, grateful to find that she was still speedy and light on her feet, though she had to be careful not to jostle her shoulder too acutely as she ran through the tightly woven branches. Before long, however, she grew weary. She had come to the last of the familiar trees, her mouth felt strange—almost thick though dry as well.

She huffed. Her bond-mate should be here to direct her to what she needed!

Soon. For she would not fail. Not in this.

Her ears prickled as the sound of the stream as it changed into the beginnings of the river met her ears.

And even if her senses could not tell her where to find Erik, suddenly she knew that she needed a drink of the cool water.

She hurried onward, before stopping at the embankment. It did not appear very deep, she was certain she could stand in it and it would come only to her waist. She was simply unsure of how to _drink._ Did she kneel and bring the water to her lips with her hands or did she lean forward until she could sip directly, much as she had seen the does and fawns do?

The bits of stone beside the river hurt her knees as she knelt, although she tried her best to pick the softest places to do so. She scooped up the clear liquid cautiously, unused to being in contact with it in such form. Rain she knew, and she and her sisterlings enjoyed many occasions of dancing merrily through sudden midsummer showers while the dryons played enthusiastically on instruments carved from ancient woods.

Christine chastised herself thoroughly. She would not dwell on such things. Not now.

The water was crisp and refreshing, though she grimaced to discover that much of it soaked into the silk of her sleeves instead of finding its proper way into her mouth. But still, as she sipped she decided that she quite liked this drinking business, especially with the way her mouth felt cool and sated the more she managed to swallow.

Her sleeves already drenched, she stared down at her hands as they swished within the water. She found herself wondering what it would feel like to be utterly submerged. Would she feel cleansed and renewed, or would the cold prickle her skin all over, demanding she escape?

She hesitated only a moment before deciding to risk it.

Perhaps she required a new perspective. While she had never felt restricted by her people—far from it as her days had always been cheerful and happy ones—now she could be truly free. Free to touch, free to explore, with no thought to whether or not she would displease the elders or bond accidently with an unsuspecting dryon.

The water lapped at her ankles as she stepped forward, the moss slimy and slick as it coated the rocky depths below. She took another step forward, leaving her skirt to puddle and become equally wet, marvelling as it alternated between sticking to her flesh and floating ethereally in the clear water.

Another step she took and yet another, until, as she suspected, the water met her waist as she stood in the middle of the stream.

Her toes felt almost numb and she felt _cold, _colder than she ever had before. But there was something delicious about the frost as it deadened the feeling of her skin, and with one last bout of purpose she sank beneath the surface.

She was only under for a moment and as soon as the burst of freezing liquid covered her head she pushed forward with her feet, once more standing as she gasped and spluttered, the icy prickling all the stronger as it pressed harshly upon her torso.

But she also felt exhilarated.

Eldared would have scoffed at her for doing something so silly, but Christine found as she trailed her hands through the water in a spin that she did not care. Her heart pounded steadily as she swished about, before finally her fingers turned a pale shade of purple and they felt stiff as she bent them.

She stumbled out of the stream, tripping on one of the rocks as she did so. She unthinkingly caught herself upon the rocky shore, and to her bemusement she discovered that tiny pebbles had imbedded themselves into her palms. But what made her inhale sharply and cringe most was the way her shoulder loudly protested the action, and she breathed harshly as she waited for the pain to abate.

She would not cry.

Christine rested a moment, hoping that what little sun managed to peek through the trees would begin to dry her dress—and preferably, begin to warm her. But a slight breeze was beginning to send a chill throughout the forest and the longer she sat the colder she became.

And very odd shakes overcame her on occasion which made her teeth click together in a strange way that she did not like at all.

Walking with a saturated skirt was troublesome and when it stuck to her legs and tripped her for the third time, she considered finding a sharp rock and cutting off a large section of it.

But what stayed her hand was remembering that it was her _adar _that given it to her, and he had smiled at her so sweetly when she had opened it on her name-day.

"It was your mother's, little one. Violet always suited her so nicely, and I am certain it will do much the same for you."

She had fought a lump in her throat as her fingers skimmed the delicate silk for the first time, and she had eagerly held out her fingers for him to touch with his own. Warmth and love as she had always known from him had flowed through their bond at the simple exchange, and she had promised to treasure it always.

There was nothing she could do about the gash in the sleeve from where the arrow had damaged it, but she would do her best to be patient with it as it dried.

Before long she came upon a bridge that spanned the width of the river, a long dirt road stretching ominously to either side.

She nibbled her lip thoughtfully. She could keep to the forest and perhaps find provisions in that way, but already she felt horribly lonesome. Even if she could not find her bond-mate immediately, she would welcome the company of _someone. _And many of the villagers she had seen appeared kindly, and maybe that would be willing to spare another biscuit or some thread so she could mend her dress. She wondered if anyone had any silk worms nearby. Most appeared in rough clothing that was not at all the luxurious fabrics she was used to. Did their cloth and thread not come from such a lavish source?

A small stream of smoke emerging from the left beckoned her forward.

Her kin did not build fires of their own, but she had often seen encampments that utilised them. Erik had done so, and she remembered now with a shiver the way it had felt so warm upon her back.

She would like one now, preferably with something a bit warmer than the cold stream to drink.

The smoke was farther away than she expected, and she was quickly realising why the humans she had encountered wore such strange coverings on their feet. Some part of her nymphlin heritage must have protected the delicate soles of her feet from the sharp branches and leaves that inhabited the forest floor, but now they were exposed and ever rock and twig poked harshly at her skin.

But she kept walking, for standing and thinking too much would only lead to more tears, and she had experienced quite enough of crying for the conceivable future.

Eventually a noise startled her and she turned sharply and she saw a white haired man driving a cart. It seemed old and rickety, and Christine was very doubtful it could properly support his weight, though it did not seem to be considerable. There was also a strange wooden device stuck in his mouth that puffed out rings of smoke periodically, and she stared at is quizzically.

"'Allo there, lass! Are you in a spot of trouble?"

He smiled at her kindly though she blushed and tugged at her skirt, trying to make it keep from clinging quite so much to her legs. "I am, sir, if you are amiable. Would you happen to know where I might stay the night?"

The man grunted and used the wooden stick in his mouth to gesture forward. "Aye. There's a tavern not too far that might have a room for ye, if'n you're willin' to pay."

Christine was not certain what it meant to _pay_, but she was sure she was willing to do what was necessary to be in the company of others again.

And perhaps her bond-mate would also require shelter and might seek lodgings as well.

"I am."

He peered at her for a moment longer before patting the seat beside him with a gnarled hand. "Well, come on then, lass, I'll be seein' you to the door."

She smiled at him gratefully, but hesitated when she reached the perch he was seated on. No step was readily evident and she wondered how one properly entered a cart. But years of climbing trees had taught her well, so she leapt up fairly easily—though the man still chuckled at her. "Ne'er seen one as graceful as you. How did you get all wet? Haven't seen many a clouds this 'morn."

He nudged the horse onward with a flick of a large stick, and she eyed the creature carefully to ensure it was unharmed. He seemed disgruntled at having to cease munching on the long grasses that had popped through the gravel of the road, but did not appear otherwise injured.

"I went in the stream."

The man gaped at her. "That water be freezin' still! Lairds above, girl, you should have better sense than that."

Christine blushed, not realising that her little bout of curiosity should be seen as inappropriate. "I am sorry."

He shook his head, looking remorseful. "I've got no blanket to offer ye, but you'll warm up right as rain once we reach the pub."

She did not know how humans expressed their thankfulness to one another and she did not wish to make another mistake by presuming it was the same as her kin. So instead she gave him a soft smile and whispered, "Thank you."

His ears turned red and he patted her arm with his free hand, and she decided that the wooden thing in his mouth produced a rather pleasant smoke that smelled faintly of cherry. "What is that?"

He eyed her, evidently trying to judge where her eyes had landed and to what she referred. "Me pipe? The wife don't much care for me smokin' in her kitchen so I do as much as I can on the way to market. Shame too," he groused, "I make the finest smoke rings in all the land."

Christine did not know if he spoke truly as she had yet to see another man make an attempt, but she nodded in any case. "Would ye care to try it?"

She nearly reached for it, out of idle interest and a desire to be polite, but there was a mischievous glint in his eye that stayed her hand. "I believe you are jesting with me."

His grin was infectious and she thought he would have been a very handsome man indeed in his youth. "Aye. Have yet to find a woman who cared much for pipe smoke."

Christine would have liked the drive to continue for much longer but in another few moments he had stopped the cart. "That'll be the pub. Tell 'em Harold sent ye and they might give ye one of their sweeties for only a ha'penny."

She could not help it. He had been precisely what she required to carry on, and she wished for him to know it. So before she leapt from the perch she placed her hand on his arm softly, much as he had done. "Thank you for your kindness, Harold, I was much in need."

His ears turned that strange shade of pink again, and it looked odd indeed on a man his age. "Off with ye, lass, I have deliveries to make," he blustered, and she almost thought she had done wrongly again except there was a slight smile on his lips that belied he was well pleased.

The tavern, or pub as Harold as also referred to it, was not quite as she had expected. Men sat about smoking pipes and a few appeared to be playing games of some sort, though none she would ever like to play. One in particular seemed dangerous in the extreme, as a man was using his knife to find the spaces between his fingers, and Christine thought it ridiculous to risk ones digits simply for a game.

But she would never say anything and instead hovered at the door, unsure of how to proceed.

She had wanted _people_, to be sure, but as she stared into the darkened room she wondered if this was precisely the kind of people that would make her feel less alone.

A rather harangued looking woman appeared before her, and she took an instinctive step back at the scowl gracing her face as she assessed Christine from head to toe. "What would ye be wantin' girl? We aren't fancy folk here."

Christine opened her mouth to retort that she had made a dreadful mistake and would take her leave, but a portly man appeared and scowled at the woman. "Don't you be given her a hard time simply because she's prettier 'an you, Mabel. Back to the kitchens with ye!"

He wiped his palms on a dirty cloth at his waist. "Watcha needin', lass? Would ye be lost?"

And though he did not at all resemble her father in any manner of significance, the way his eyes crinkled about the corners as he smiled at her was so similar that to her horror she choked out a sob. "I do believe I am."

* * *

Sooo... s_till _no Erik! Good grief, what is taking him so long? But who likes Harold? I kind of love him. And I wish to adopt him. You can adopt a grandparent, right?

Reviews are like warm chocolate chip cookies! Without the guilt when you've had more than one...or two...


	6. Chapter 6

*sigh* Well, I've been in a spirally depression the past few days which _almost _made me forget that I was supposed to post tonight! But thankfully I evidently remembered long enough to do so. Thank you all again for your support and reviews, they mean so much! Especially when real life is being rather horrid at the moment.

* * *

VI

Damn that girl.

While Erik had many talents to aid him in hunting his targets, the little nymph seemed to leave none of them. Leaves that should have been disturbed due to her movement lay as they had freshly fallen, and he could find no imprint of her feet in any loose bits of dirt.

If only his conscience did not prickle so harshly he could take it as proof that she was not his responsibility—perhaps she had not truly ever existed. Memories of his first impression of her returned, an angel from heaven that he had struck with his bow, only now to have returned from whence she came.

But Raghnall had been real enough, his neck pliant as his fingers found purchase around his windpipe.

Erik had never been one for _feelings, _and he deeply resented that one brief encounter with a maiden had made him question his own sensibilities. Raghnall would have been killed simply for having threatened him, and he would already be in Monavyn, his task accomplished.

And yet here he was standing in the midst of the forest, searching for any signs of a girl that most likely did not wish to be found.

When he heard sounds of the stream he led his horse onward, as although he had not ridden the beast hard, he had not been watered since the day before.

His horse lapped gratefully and Erik considered filling his own flask with water, but decided against it. The spirits might have been mostly used to cleanse the girl's wound, but he was not going to waste what was left by diluting it with questionably clean water.

He kicked a rock in frustration—though perhaps if he was a more honest man, he could recognise it as petulance—and that was when he saw it. A small, dainty footprint in a bit of mud by the shore, that most certainly could not be mistaken for anything but a feminine sole.

Erik could not imagine why evidence of her existence should fill him with such relief.

He looked about the area more thoroughly but could find no other sign of her. Knowing she was by the water meant she would not perish from thirst, but it could also mean she was wet and cold. The day was pleasant, but not warm, and if she should have fallen in...

He groaned and sank against the trunk of a weeping willow, cursing himself and the girl for complicating his already disagreeable existence.

Raghnall had said he should _feel _her.

As if such a thing would _mean _something to him.

His helm suddenly felt heavy and with a sigh he removed it. Already he had become more careless than ever before when it came to exposing his face, but he found that he did not possess the energy to worry about that as well. He pulled at his hair as if somehow the action could bring him the knowledge of where he might find her—_if _he should indeed find her.

But of course it did not and he allowed his uncovered head to rest against the smooth bark of the large tree, his body enshrouded by the long green boughs that gently skimmed the water below.

And he sat.

He closed his eyes.

And he listened.

Birdsong echoed cheerily through the trees, and the soft clomping of his horse as he moved to sweeter grasses met his ears. A light breeze rustled errant leaves, and in that moment the forest nearly felt _alive._

_Such a shame that he should lose her._

_Humans can be so foolish._

_He is not pretty enough for her._

Some part of him knew that the whispers he heard were not a danger, and the rational part of him dismissed them as the nattering of an over-tired mind. But still, he listened more deeply, and though he almost scoffed himself at the action, he did his best to _feel._

And feel he did.

He felt a tinge of happiness that was not his own, as what did he have to be content about? He felt an echoing sadness and a burden that threatened to overwhelm him yet a determination and resolve to keep such sorrow at bay.

Suddenly, he knew.

Not a specific location—that would be far too convenient and helpful.

No, he was merely left with an errant thought, a wisp of confidence that if he considered too long would leave him wandering the forest aimlessly.

His horse did not seem overjoyed at leaving his meal behind, but Erik felt hurried, that somehow if he tarried too long he would lose whatever seemed to prod him on in what he hoped—and dare he say, he prayed?— was the proper direction.

So swiftly replacing his helm, he departed.

To his bemusement he found himself on the very road he would have travelled if not waylaid by the impudent man concerned with Christine's wellbeing. Even when faced with the choice of two directions his hesitation was slight, choosing to follow whatever this pull was that prompted him toward the left.

Only to find himself stopping at a stone building, a stable boy already hurrying forward with an open palm to tend the horse.

Finally he entered the tavern, with only a moment's vacillation as he chastised himself for believing in whatever force had brought him here.

Except when he entered the smoke filled room his eyes immediately landed on her.

And something that he had not realised had been taut within his chest loosened, and breathing seemed all the easier.

His earlier worry seemed well founded as her hair still showed evidence of dampness and her dress was crinkled from where water must have soaked it. She had a cup of what he assumed to be ale that she held firmly between both hands, and her eyes were lowered as she stared into its depths.

His heart clenched in sympathy when he noticed the evidence of tears still upon her cheeks.

He stalked forward purposefully, displeased by the many eyes that strayed to her corner and wishing that their reunion might have been in private.

"Could you not have found refuge in a more suitable location?"

Her head rose so quickly he half expected her to next complain of some injury to her neck. "Erik? You came for me..."

He hummed, taking the seat across from her without waiting for an invitation. He raised the visor so he could see her clearly, yet it covered enough of his features to keep him safely concealed from prying eyes. "Were you expecting another? I am afraid that your lover has come and gone already, though he sends you his warmest regards."

Christine's lip trembled and he felt almost sorry for speaking to her in such a flippant manner, though he chastised himself thoroughly for any such remorse. Even if he felt a certain... protectiveness for the girl before him, he would not become a lovesick fool.

He was not nearly so pathetic, and he would not simper and pander to a woman merely because she was the first to pay him any attention.

"Raghnall spoke to you?"

His brow furrowed at the realisation that she could so easily identify the man from his unflattering—and arguably uncouth— description.

And he shifted uncomfortably at the sharp stab in his belly at the thought of her with another.

"He did. He asked that I be _kind_ to you."

Her smile was so desperately sad that some hidden part of himself ached in tandem. "That sounds like him. He only wanted for me to be happy."

Erik's scowl deepened. "Would it make you _happy _to know that he surrendered you to my care? That he intends to make no further attempts to contact you?"

She nibbled at her lip and he assumed it was to stem yet another bout of tears. "He should not have done even that. The elders could banish him on principle. I would not wish this upon him..."

Her vigil over her cup of ale resumed, and Erik's indignant response was ceased by the approach of a tavern wench—though her days entertaining customers with her appearance had long since ended. "What can a getcha, m'laird?"

"Whatever my lady is having will be more than sufficient." Her words had hurt him and he was ill prepared to keep the sting of his ire from his own. The wench gave a quick and unpractised curtsey before hurrying off to the kitchens, obviously glad to be away from his poor temper.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering his earlier relief at having found her relatively unharmed. But before he could offer an apology—or at least, what little of one he would be willing to present—she spoke.

"I was coming to find you. I was not entirely sure how, but I knew that no matter what you said it was important I remain with you." Her voice was strong but now it began to waver. "No matter how unkind you choose to be, I still believe that my place is at your side."

What a pretty sacrifice she made.

He could beat her, bed her, and still she would think it wise to remain with him?

Even the thought sickened him.

He did not _want _her to make such a sacrifice. If ever she chose to remain with him it should be because he was a man worthy of her—worthy of her beauty and her smiles, not because of some ridiculous sense of obligation.

Which was why he had abandoned her that morning.

He groaned and was grateful for the ale that saved him from making an immediate reply. He could not easily drink it with only the visor of his helm lifted, and he was not about to expose himself by its complete removal. Instead it would be a prop, much as hers was, and he watched her dip a slender fingertip into a bit of foam and move it about the rim.

Erik swallowed thickly.

"Do you think I wish for a slave? For a mindless harpy to wander behind me and do my bidding, simply because she feels it is my right to demand it of her?"

Her gaze rose sharply to meet his, and for the first time he saw a flicker of her own indignation. "I think that you are my bond-mate. I think that if you would allow yourself a moment to cease your attempt to leave me then we could begin to forge our bond as a properly mated pair! You would not ask anything of me that I would not willingly give because you would _feel _my distress, and I should wish to care for you because I would be able to feel your satisfaction!"

He stared at her, mesmerised by the rising colour in her cheeks and the way her breath grew shorter as she spoke to him with such ferocity. While he might question her sanity for believing such drivel, he could not in good conscience discredit her authenticity. She believed that what she spoke was truth, but he could not help but remember that she would have pledged herself to any other poor unsuspecting soul that had touched her unawares.

She did not want _him _she merely wanted her _mate._

"I am not interested in a wife."

A lie if ever there was one.

So many nights he lay alone in his bed—or more typically, his bedroll—and wondered what it would be like to feel a warm body pressed against him, sleepy and barely audible sighs whispered against his flesh from a wife who was properly sated. He would remain awake not from the terrible knot of loneliness but because it was his duty to keep her safe, and perhaps because he wished to experience just a bit more of her, lying prone and trusting in his arms.

Christine bit her lip. "Is that what you call your bond-mate? A wife? Would you also be my wife?"

Erik could not help the sharp bark of laughter at her query. "Nay. Should we have spoken vows then I would be your husband, and you my wife. But we did not so I am as much a stranger to you as any other man in this room."

She flinched and her gaze settled once more at her untried mug, and he quickly decided he never wished to see her do so again—not from something he had done.

He sighed deeply and tried to remember all that Raghnall had told him. He would have him believe they were a magical people, and that was something Erik could not yet permit himself to consider. But it was clear she was from a very different way of life, and while it would be taxing to explain so much to her, he could at least attempt to be patient. "Forgive me, I should not laugh. Things are different here and much more is involved for a couple to be wed."

"How did you find me?"

Erik was unprepared for how her demeanour had shifted. Her quailed appearance was gone and in its place was the prim posture of a lady that would put any true noblewoman to shame.

It made him sit a bit straighter in his own seat.

"I fail to see how that is relevant. But if you must know, I followed your tracks." He sincerely hoped she overlooked the way he had spoken just a little too quickly. Erik was an excellent liar, but with this girl...

From the small smile on her lips, she had overlooked nothing.

"I do not believe you, Erik. Even though I was unable to follow our bond to you, it is clear that you were able to use it to find me. That is good." The last part was barely more than a murmur, almost as if she was offering herself reassurance.

He made no reply, but she did not seem to mind as she pressed on. "Do you not see? Your ways of sealing might be different than mine, but that does not negate the fact that we _are _bonded. I did not know that it was possible to be so with a human, I thought I should perish when you struck me, but instead we are sealed. We should rejoice, not argue at every turn."

"Pardon me, _my lady, _but I do not see much to inspire my enthusiasm. I do not have a home to offer you. I travel hither and yon doing the bidding of kings I do not call my own, and many of those tasks include killing men I have never met." His voice was low and barely more than a hiss of air, but he could tell from the way her eyes widened that she understood him perfectly. While he did not fear any of the men in the surrounding tables as they would prove little match for his abilities, he did not wish to draw undue attention all the same—not when Christine could be put at risk. "Whether or not I feel something for you is inconsequential."

Her eyes had widened at his confessed occupation, and he took a grim satisfaction from it. Good. He wanted her to have no ridiculous fantasies about his person—that would only lead to expectations and disappointments on both their parts.

"Is that... common, among men? To kill one another?"

Erik shrugged. "It depends on the kingdom. Some do better than most at keeping men's proclivities focused in a more productive direction."

He did not much care for the intensity of her scrutiny. "Yet you choose to do so. Where is it you call home?"

That was not a topic he would discuss with anyone, let alone the little nymph before him. "Far, and you would not know the name, so you needn't trouble yourself with it. Instead, we should plan on what to do with you as you most certainly cannot remain in my company."

She had the impudence to smile.

"I beg to differ... husband, was it? A strange word." Erik's heart clenched with a sudden thrill as the word fell from her lips, especially as it was directed at _him._ "I can assure you that even if you should leave me to work and toil and live with another, I would still find my way back to your side—even if I must work to secure our bond on my own. I am certain with enough practice I should become attuned to it. And perhaps I can assist you with your work," she offered, though her nose wrinkled in distaste.

But that lone offer was enough to show him precisely why she must never continue with him. No matter his intentions, no matter how honourable they might be, inevitably he would corrupt some of that feminine innocence that exuded from her so effortlessly.

And he did not think he could bear that upon his conscience.

"You will do no such thing."

She sighed, dipping her finger into the amber liquid before placing it in her mouth and suckling at it gently. Her brow furrowed as she considered the taste, but she must have found it wanting as she did not take another sip. "I believe we are at an impasse then, Erik, for I refuse to let you abandon me again."

The insufferable cheek.

But Raghnall's nearly tearful plea came unbidden to his mind, and the very fact that he had sought her out confirmed that if he ever intended to move past this dreadful place, he would need to be constantly aware of her location. If she refused to remain where he settled her, then it was only logical that she should accompany him.

Erik was never one for companionship.

She must have mistaken his silence for a temporary lapse so as to reinstate his argument for she pressed on, this time quietly and without her previous force. "I do not know what a lover means to you and your people, but I think you should know that Raghnall has only ever been my friend. Perhaps if things had been... different then he would have petitioned my _adar, _but..." She sighed and hid behind her hair, and Erik knew a moment's discomfort at the realisation of all she had lost.

It must be a heavy burden indeed.

And he was the bastard that continued to mock her for her sorrow, never relenting even as she beckoned him for aid.

But as he also considered her words he realised with growing shame that he was relieved at her assurance. His unwelcome visitor had been young and fair—though perhaps a bit _too _fair as he could easily have been mistaken for a female, if one was not already aware of Christine's otherworldly beauty.

Simply because he agreed to her continued presence did not mean he would be forced to take her as a wife. The knowledge that any man could have been in his position was still too near and left his stomach unsettled. No, but he could offer her protection, something she would desperately need in this world of cruelty and lust.

He might not be willing to offer his sword and his life to a king, but he was quickly coming to believe he would do so for this creature if she but ask it of him.

"Very well, nymph, you may stay with me."

* * *

Sooo... looks like Erik is finally doing something right! At least... he's getting there. How many of you thought Christine was going to get mauled in the tavern? Tsk tsk, not everyone is filled with ill-intent!

Reviews are little doses of good cheer! And at this time I could really use some of that...


	7. Chapter 7

Heellooo! Thankfully my spirally depression has ended and I have only cried _once _today... and that was about my cat who has been sick for a while now with far too many vet visits that resulted in nothing, but I finally have a proper diagnosis. And she shall be fine! But yes. Very emotional. Aaannywhooo, thank you all so much for your reviews and encouragement, it always brightens my day!

And now, onward!

* * *

VII

She stared at him, relatively certain he would rescind his acquiescence as soon as he had given it.

"Truly? You will not try and leave me again?"

He groaned, and his grip tightened around his cup filled with the strange liquid. She wondered why he did not remove his helmet and drink. The aftertaste was rather pleasant she supposed, but it was far too bitter for her to consider sipping with vigour. She also did not care for the foam about the top, preferring to allow the bubbles to pop as they wished on her finger instead of seeing how they might react when introduced to her stomach.

"Nay, you have my word. While I will not have you for a wife, you shall be my companion."

Her disappointment was immediate. "What does being a _companion _entail?"

She remembered her initial horror at discovering the lore surrounding her home, where men chased in order to bed, perfectly content to disappear once more without thought for the poor dryad they left behind. To hear her _bond-mate_ suggest such a thing would be devastating.

"I shall protect you, hunt for you, and see you properly clothed. You shall tidy the camp and I shall show you how to brush my horse. I would buy another but you are not much bigger than a slip of a girl so you should not be much more of a burden to him."

She blushed. "I would not know how to ride a horse, Erik, even if you provided it."

He nodded, seemingly expecting that. He hesitated a moment longer, though she could tell something else was pressing on his mind.

A small part of her wished that it was the bond that made that so clear, and that it was not merely due to his expressive eyes.

They were beautiful in their own way. Pale as any she had ever seen, yet in different lights they appeared to take on colours she would not expect. In the soft glow of the forest when she had first seen him they had almost been green, but in the dim light of the tavern they nearly glowed a vibrant gold.

"I will not impose myself on you _physically,_ so that might bring you some little comfort."

He said this without looking at her and she wished almost desperately that he would. Despite how much the simmering anger frightened her that so often exhibited in them, at least she felt somewhat more sure when they were visible. No dryon was as difficult to understand as this man, of that she was convinced.

"Do you mean that you shall not be intimate with me? But that is what shall further our bond the most." She felt a sudden ache as the realisation of what he actually meant became all the more clear. "You do not... wish for me to be a mate. Not a true one at least. You will allow me to follow after you simply because it is more convenient, but you will not help me by sealing our bond."

He shifted in his chair, almost as if her words made him uncomfortable. "I do not believe that you wish to be with me. If any other man was seated before you after having the misfortune of touching you, you would be swearing your fealty and plighting your troth just as quickly. So nay, I do not want your bond nor for it to be sealed. Not when it means so little to you."

She shrank back quickly, sure that his proclamation could have hurt no more than if he had pierced her with another arrow. "You are all I have. I am not sure what it means to plight a troth, but you must understand, if you allowed me I could learn to care for you most deeply. But you seem to find the very idea offensive in the extreme." Christine touched her shoulder absently, the ache there suddenly flaring to life much like the one in her heart. "Perhaps you enjoy wounding me."

Erik groaned and stood sharply. He seemed ready to retort—was she strong enough to hear his reply?—when the unkind woman who had first approached her reappeared. "Are you takin' your leave, m'laird?" Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at Christine. "The girl hasn't paid for her ale either, nor the room she asked for."

Christine blushed. The man who had seated her at the table had told her not to be concerned about the cost, and his concern over her wellbeing had seemed genuine. He brought her a chair closest to the fire the faster to dry her, he had said, and she had been so grateful for his care.

But now the woman was glaring at her and Erik's eyes were narrowed and she felt foolish and lost and she so very deeply wished to be home.

Except she had no home, and likely never would again.

Erik passed a small metal piece to the woman and she gave a funny little dip before scurrying away back to the kitchens. "How were you intending to pay for these things? Do you have a coin purse hidden away in those skirts?"

She sighed. "I do not know. Harold said that I might find shelter here if I was willing to pay, and I was quite willing to do whatever was necessary. Where does one find some of those metal pieces that made the woman go away? I fear I shall need more of those soon if you decide to leave me again."

It felt terrible indeed to doubt the word of her bond-mate, but he had left her little choice. He might have said she was welcome to stay with him—that she would not awaken one morning to find him gone—but he did little to inspire her confidence. So she would be watchful and careful, and maybe with time he would grow to be the tiniest bit fond of her and be a bit gentler in manner.

And especially in word.

Erik sighed and looked at her expectantly, and she rose quickly, hoping that would please him. He strode out of the tavern without glancing behind him, and she hurried to keep up with his long strides.

"I would allow you one night with a roof over your head but I am behind schedule as it is. I should have been in Monavyn by now, and I have a reputation to uphold."

He led her to another building, this one filled with bits of what appeared to be dried grass and smelled strongly of something she could not readily identify—that was until a few large horse heads popped out from behind short wooden doors. A young boy ran in and Erik barked at him to see his horse saddled and readied before he took her arm and pulled her back into the afternoon air.

His touch was softer than she had expected, yet firm all the same as with the rest of his demeanour it demanded her respect and acquiescence. If only he would realise that she had no desire to do anything but please him so his blustering and arguments were not necessary.

But it was with a heavy heart that she began to think that perhaps what would please him most was her absence, and she was not certain that was something she could so readily provide—not when she needed him so.

"You misunderstand me, Christine. I do not _enjoy _wounding you as you so egregiously suggest. However, we seem incapable of communicating properly so I wonder if we should not give up the venture entirely." she was almost surprised how his voice could sound so angry—and almost, hurt?—directly contrasting the tenderness of his touch.

Christine shook her head vehemently. "We should do the opposite! With more practice I am sure we shall begin to learn enough about one another that we can say what we mean and it be correctly heard."

He released her arm with yet another sigh—this one sounding heavy and sad—before he took a step back from her. "I am going to return to the tavern and see about purchasing some provisions for the road; you must be hungry. Can I trust you to wait here and remain out of trouble?"

She nearly protested, already suspicious that he would attempt to escape without her. But surely he would not leave without his horse and she was closer to its nest than he would be, so she nodded her consent. "I shall do my best."

He grunted and stalked off, but Harold's kindly suggestion came to mind. "Erik, wait! Harold said to mention his name and they would give me a sweetie! Is that food? I do not know, but if it is, do you think my stomach should like one?" She glanced down at it thoughtfully. Erik seemed to know much better than she about what it would like or dislike—he was much better at understanding its grumbles, so she hoped he would interpret it appropriately for her.

Even with the distance between them she saw him roll his eyes with a huff, and wondered if she should be offended by it as he disappeared through the doorway.

Their conversation by the fire had done much to dry her dress, and she tugged at it ruefully wishing the creases would dissipate. She felt horribly guilty for not removing it before her dip in the stream. Perhaps she should have even taken it off before her drink so the sleeves would not have been soiled.

But not matter how she plucked and smoothed the silk it did not cooperate and she gave up with a sigh.

Before Erik had returned the boy arrived, his head hung low as he offered her the bits of leather dangling from the horse's mouth. "Here ye are, m'lady."

She stared at him, making no move to take the proffered item.

Eventually he glanced up at her, a blush settled on his cheeks. "He's been a good horse, this one. He won't give you no trouble."

Christine wanted to believe him but still found the creature terribly intimidating. It was taller than most of the other beasts she had encountered, and she was certain he could crush her with his giant hooves if that was his desire.

Yet he only blinked at her placidly from dark, nearly black eyes, no ill intent present within them.

So with a hesitant hand she grasped the leather strips, careful not to tug at its mouth as that seemed like it should annoy the animal.

Suddenly he opened his mouth and repositioned a piece of metal pressing inside, and Christine gasped. Would that not hurt the poor creature?

She almost began the process of removing the strange device but thought better of it quickly. Surely the boy Erik had entrusted with caring for his horse should know if a mistake had been made. But when she went to ask him, she caught him looking at her, a nervous yet resolved expression on his face.

"Are ye in need of help, m'lady?"

He could not have been a fully grown man, of that she was certain, although he was no child either. He was taller than she but did not even compare to her bond-mate's formidable height, and she could tell from his manner and appearance that he would make a pleasing mate one day—a _husband, _if she was to begin to understand this new world.

"I only be askin' because the laird does not seem very kind, and a gentle lady such as you should have someone to look after you proper. It's not my place to meddle, I know that, but if it was me sister who needed help I'd want someone to take notice."

She smiled at him as best she could, even when her heart ached briefly. If this young man could recognise the need for gentility with her, then surely with a bit more time and coaxing, her bond-mate could see it too.

At least, she sincerely hoped for as much.

"She will not be requiring any assistance that _you _can offer, boy, so I suggest you run along before I throttle you for your impudence."

The boy in question blanched, but remained where he was—though Christine saw a slight twitch in his hands that belied his confidence. "M'laird, I meant no offense to ye. I was worried, that's all."

Erik grunted and roughly grabbed the leather from her hands, his horse giving a disgruntled jerk of his head in response. Christine half expected him to give the animal a bludgeoning for the action, but he merely patted its neck soothingly before producing a carrot from some unknown pocket.

Her bond-mate remained silent so she felt it prudent to be the one to form a reply. "I can assure you, I am precisely where I ought to be, but I thank you for your concern. You shall make a fine mate in future."

The colour rose once more in his cheeks and he ducked his head, but seemed to believe her for he scurried back toward the stables.

"You seem to have a very fine knack for convincing men to offer you clemency. Pray tell, am I merely your latest victim? Who was this Harold you mentioned?"

She opened her mouth to tell him, quite indignantly, that she would greatly appreciate if he would cease portraying her as a seducer of all men's affections, but before she could do so he had leapt upon the horse and reached down and snatched her into his lap.

Christine had never felt this way before.

She felt unsteady being so high off the ground while on an _animal, _used to the sure and stable nature of the trees that she had once called home. She had also not been positioned so upon a man—not since she was a seedling and still fit upon her _adar's _lap as he told her stories of the old days.

But this felt entirely different.

Her bond-mate was a large man, and incredibly strong, that much was clear. He seemed to prod the horse into motion simply with the use of his thigh muscles, and she cried out when the beast leapt forward in response to its master's demand. Erik's arms had tightened around her and even with his faceplate drawn she could feel the warmth of his breath as she clutched at his neck and tried to bury her face into the unforgiving metal of his armour.

"Well? Have you no answer?"

She took a shuddering breath, peeking down at the ground below. In truth they were not going so _very _fast, yet she found that the faster they went the smoother and less bumpy the experience. "He was an ancient I happened upon on the road. He told me that the tavern might allow me to stay the night."

Erik laughed and it sent a jolt of awareness through her heart.

_That _was the sound she wished to hear from him, not his huffs of annoyance and barks of angry words.

But she still was left with the distinct impression that he was laughing _at _her, not because she had been witty.

"An ancient? Do you mean to say he was elderly?"

She shrugged, not finding there to be much difference between the two terms. "His hair was white and he had many creases upon his face. But he was gracious and did not like to see me cold."

Christine glanced up at Erik and through the slats of his helm she could see the furrowed brow that bespoke his scowl.

Would he always be so quick to temper?

He was quiet for a moment and she dared not fill the silence with her own foolish chatter. Perhaps if she waited long enough he would speak of why he frowned so—_without _being terse with her.

"Do you truly think me so cruel? You accused me earlier of wishing you harm, but that is not in the least true. I only have the benefit of knowing that by remaining with me, I _shall _continue to wound you, whether it is my intention or not."

Christine's mind recoiled at his bluntness, and it amazed her that he could seem so _sure _of himself as he stated such drivel.

"Have you had a mate before?"

He barked out a laugh, not at all the pleasant sound from earlier but one harsh and full of disdain. "Nay, I have not had the pleasure of a wife, nor of a girl who claims to be bound to me. Would that have made it better or worse for you?"

Her grip on his neck tightened. "I should not like to think I was stealing away another woman's mate and the idea of you having gone through the pain of losing one by death is grievous to me."

Erik made no reply, and she wondered if that was an improvement from his usually biting retorts. She pressed on, "But I think maybe your ideas of mating are different than mine. If you could allow yourself to feel for me then you would realise that eventually wounding me will be like wounding yourself—I do not know of many who would find such an action pleasurable. I shall wish to please you because it will bring me joy to do so, not because of a compulsion led by our sealing."

He shook his head, mumbling words that were curt and short though she could not make out their meaning.

Perhaps that was for the best.

"I shall win, you know. No matter how long you reject me, reject _this, _I shall keep pestering. My _adar _says that I can be quite merciless when something is important to me."

Erik hummed. "Of that I can believe. If you can prove merciless in anything, it seems only fitting that a little nymph like you would choose pleasing her supposed husband."

She glanced up at him, finding his helm to be troublesome as it obscured so much of him from her view. A brief memory of his true face flashed before her eyes, and she remembered he was not very fair to look upon. But even being able to see his eyes would be an improvement so she lifted the visor to reveal them to her gaze.

His scowl returned, and she supposed it was due to the fact that she had not asked permission, but she found that she did not care. The longer she spent with this man the more she believed him incapable of knowing what was best for him. He blustered and growled and said he did not want her—did not want a _wife—_but she knew, deep within her soul, that this could not be the case.

So she touched the corner of his eye with her forefinger, revelling in the sensation that trickled through the bond and simply from the sensation of _touching._ His eyes widened but his hands were too full supporting her weight to do much to hinder her actions, and she pressed her advantage. "I shall sleep now, I think, and you shall be given opportunity to ponder my words. We can be happy, you and I, if only you would let us find it. Together."

Even though the metal of his armour was harsh and she was unused to moving at such a fast pace upon such a tall beast, she felt a peace she had never known as his arms tightened around her. And the exhaustion, both physical and especially that within her heart, pulled her into slumber.

* * *

Sooo... Looks like Erik hasn't managed to screw it up again! Yet... (Don't worry, it's coming...) Also, who wants to give the stable boy a hug? It was a very brave thing to offer her some assistance... not when it could mean angering a certain Erik! He can be rather intimidating you know... mask... imposing figure... total package.

Reviews are like Erik promising not to leave you behind! Bring on the warm and fuzzies! (What do you mean that isn't a word?)


	8. Chapter 8

Oh, is it posting time again? I'm pleasantly full and sleepy from a feast of coconut waffles so you're fortunate I was able to remember at all! Ahem. Anyway. Onward!

Wait! I lied. Warning time! Um... this chapter contains... something... idiotic and... ill advised. So prepare to screech toward the end there...

Okay, _now _onward!

* * *

VIII

She was curled in his lap, murmuring nothings into his ear that seemed to feed whatever part of him ached for kindness and affection, long denied by his stony composure. His armour had disappeared and he relished the feel of her—the _true _feel of her—pressed against him, the rigid impediment removed. He allowed his hands to drift down the soft silk of her gown, rivalled only by the suppleness of her skin before finally, _finally, _allowing his fingers to comb through the long tresses of her hair that seemed to shimmer in the dim light of early morning.

Her eyes were as bright and blue as a midsummer sky, and they peered at him with such love and warmth that he was left breathless.

"It could be like this always, if you would let it."

All of his old arguments echoed tauntingly through his mind, yet when she looked at him that way, they began to quiet—almost as if they had never been.

His appearance did not matter.

His profession did not matter.

Only she mattered.

Only ever her.

With trembling hands he reached out to cup her cheek, marvelling at the way his large palm seemed to frame her face so completely. So delicate, so very beautiful, and completely and inexplicably his.

His lips met hers and some part of his soul leapt forward and was found, mingling and twining with hers as the softness of her lips met his own slightly rough ones. At any other time he would have been horrified that she could _see _him, would be forced to kiss a monster such as he, but as she surrounded his senses—her hair twining over his shoulders as the kiss deepened, her arms coming to embrace him—such cares seemed a distant memory, ones that he had no desire to locate.

"I love you, sweet Erik. Please do not leave me alone for so long again."

And as he pressed his kisses onto every bit of skin he could, he breathed, "_Never,_" over and over, nearly as a benediction, a vow, one that he hoped would bind him to her as completely as she was to him.

Erik awoke with a start.

Despite his best efforts to reach Monavyn that night, such was not to be. Although Christine's form was slim, her presence did not allow his horse to travel as quickly as he usually would, and he tired more easily. So eventually, late in the night and with only a sliver of moon and starlight to guide him, he had stopped in a small clearing at the edge of the forest and set up camp. He considered waking her to ply her with foods, realising ruefully how little she had eaten that day.

She must have been starving.

But she looked so peaceful and contended as she slept and he instead allowed her to rest, promising himself that he would prepare her a bountiful breakfast at first light and ensure she ate her fill.

She was slight enough as it was, and he was afraid that any more of this mistreatment—for he could not look back on his acquaintanceship with her and view it as anything else—would cause her to simply wither away completely.

The dream had been unexpected, and most certainly unwelcome. He had not intended to sleep himself, instead deciding that keeping watch was a necessary endeavour. Erik had never had a companion before, especially not one so enticing as Christine, and he fully believed someone could try to snatch her away if he did not keep a steady guard.

But regardless of his resolve he must have succumbed to sleep, if only for a little while. And Christine was still tucked safely in his bedroll, and he felt far too much relief than was reasonable for a girl he did not care for.

His stomach growled from his own lack of food, and he felt another stab of sympathy for how hungry she must be. He stretched, trying fruitlessly to release the kinks and cramps that inevitably came from falling asleep upright and set about preparing breakfast.

Perhaps _preparing _implied too great an effort on his part, as truthfully he had only to stoke the fire and place a few of the pasties on a large, smooth rock to warm by the flame. He debated with himself, but also pulled out the sweetie she had requested, considering whether or not he should in fact gift her with it.

For reasons he could not explain, it troubled him greatly that another had cared for her, and it was from this care that he had known to request such a treat for her.

Nonetheless, he had notmentioned Harold's name and had paid the full amount. Even if his_ companion _wished to use her feminine charms to inspire men's compassion, he most certainly would not be taking the same advantage.

Something of his conscience prickled at such thoughts. The longer he came to know her—though he would not pretend to truly know her, not until the ridiculous matter of Raghnall's insistence that she was truly a nymph could be sorted—the more convinced he became that she was not the skilled manipulator and seductress he had first assumed. Her tears were always, painfully, genuine, as were her smiles and the occasional twitch of irritation when he had been an exacting bastard to her. What he assumed were the practiced wiles finely honed to be his ultimate destruction, he begrudgingly acknowledged now were simply _her. _

Her trying to be kind, and her trying to eke out whatever kindness from him he was willing to part with.

He poked a pasty with the point of an arrow, not trusting the sticks scattered about as there was no telling what manner of animal had been traipsing about on them.

Already he could smell the delicious combination of buttery crust and stewed meat, and it took a considerable amount of his control to keep from snatching one to sate the edge of his hunger. But he wished to offer her the one of her choosing, however small a peace offering it might be, and he would not ruin it by being overeager.

He removed his helm and rubbed at his neck, tired and sore as it was from supporting the heavy weight for so long. He glanced at the sleeping girl quickly before pulling on his mask—the easier to eat by.

If he left them much longer he feared they would burn, and surely burned pasties were worse than a smaller selection. That begged the question of how to wake her. He glanced down at the arrow point and briefly considered poking her with it, much as he had their breakfast, until she awoke. But even as he pictured the sharpened point of it coming into contact with her person, he was filled with visions of it piercing her flesh and the strange sticky blood oozing and the fear and remorse that had immediately followed.

His dream taunted him. Although her lips had been a figment of his own imagination, he vividly recalled how glorious they had felt as he nibbled at them with his, and he wondered if she might prefer to awake in such a manner.

He stopped _that _fantasy short with a curt reminder that it was simply a dream and that his kisses would never be foisted upon her when she was not even conscious to deny her consent.

That did little to quell the desire.

So instead he stood over her, clearing his throat obnoxiously yet still she slept on.

She had when he leapt down from the horse.

She had slept when he lay her down in the softest moss he could find so he could make camp.

And she had when he tucked her safely into his bedroll.

And still she slept, the savoury scent of breakfast pervading the air.

While many things about her continued to amaze him, he rather thought that this particular attribute was the most incredible.

Finally he stooped low and assessed which area would be best to prod. She was lying on her good side, her injured shoulder peeking out from the furs. He frowned, noting that he would need to provide clean bandages after they had eaten. He also begrudgingly realised that he would be sacrificing more of his dwindling spirits in order to clean it once again.

He berated himself silently for having left the tavern without having stocked one of his most welcome provisions.

"Christine," he murmured, allowing a fingertip to stroke down her sleep-warmed cheek.

His mouth grew dry, realising that although his dream might have fabricated details—her willingness being paramount—the memory of her silken skin had been exact.

She sighed softly, a gentle smile upon her lips as she snuggled deeper into the furs.

He swallowed thickly, trying not to remember that until recently, those had been _his _furs.

"Christine," he tried again, this time more forceful although his touch remained gentle.

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him, and it sent an ache through his heart that he had never known before. "I had the most wonderful dream," she whispered drowsily.

There was no possibility, absolutely none, that she had been privy to what _he _had dreamt. Most likely she had been home with her father and Raghnall, pledging troths and dancing about at her wedding feast as she laughed and rejoiced at their reunion.

"A dream formed from starvation, I expect. Up with you, before our breakfast burns."

She sighed, and he noted with a grimace that she shivered as she left the blessed cocoon of warmth. Her village must have been strange indeed if she could be dressed so without thought of a wrap. He sighed and pulled out his cloak from a saddlebag, shaking it out ruefully as he noted the few wrinkles that managed to corrupt the fabric.

"Here. I will not have you sick as you follow me about. You are troublesome enough without also sneezing on my chest as we ride." He placed it on her shoulders, and she stared up at him with such wide eyes that he was momentarily lost in the sheer _blueness _of them.

Eventually she looked away and he was freed, and he busied himself with finding the flagon of water—the more appropriate beverage for their morning meal.

"Thank you, Erik." Her voice was hushed yet the gratefulness was clear, and he felt a momentary thrill. He might be boorish and have blundered every encounter he had with her thus far, but this morning he had yet to do so.

"You are much welcome, nymph. Now pick a pasty."

She peered at the assortment curiously. "What are they?" Her stomach grumbled loudly and she placed a hand over it soothingly. "I suppose you do not much care what they are, but you seem to want one. Have you a preference?"

Erik stared at her incredulously as she allowed a hand to hover over each, seemingly waiting for her stomach to form an opinion.

"You are in earnest?"

Her eyes were wide and innocent as she glanced at him. "Is this not how you do it?"

He rolled his eyes and picked up the finest looking pasty and handed it to her. "Eat, nymph, and cease your foolishness."

She looked momentarily disheartened by his tone, but nibbled on her breakfast dutifully.

Before promptly yelping.

"It is hot!"

The interior steamed welcomingly as he saw the small bite she had taken and Erik could not help but take two for himself, biting into them voraciously without care should it burn his mouth. "Aye. Nothing worse than a cold pasty."

She glared down at it and he could not help but smirk at how perturbed she appeared. "That was very naughty to... to _burn _me!"

He could not help it.

He laughed, loud and long, and quite possibly louder and longer than was appropriate. Especially when he received another glare from her which only amused him more.

"Why should you laugh when your food injures me?"

He waited to answer until all that was left was an errant chuckle, before taking another bite of his apparently discourteous food. "I do not laugh at your discomfort, my lady, merely your strange manner of address."

She blushed and took another nibble, her brow furrowed as she chewed carefully, evidently waiting for it to maim her further. But this time much of the heat must have been released and she took another enthusiastic bite, the buttery crust and stewed vegetables clearly to her liking.

Erik had yet to meet a person who disliked a pasty.

They ate in silence, though he nudged her with his water flagon occasionally to get her to drink. She fumbled with the seal and nearly dropped it before peering into its contents cautiously. He grunted, "I shan't poison you, it is naught but water."

Christine drank deeply and he felt another slice of guilt for how he had failed to care for her. She did not need to be his wife, or his _bond-mate _as she still called him, for him to help her. She was a maiden in need and deserving of his intervention.

The dream still mocked him, with all of its possibilities.

"What is your horse's name?"

Erik swallowed, relishing the warmth in his belly. "His what?"

"Do you not name your beasts? The saplings always loved naming the woodland creatures. It grew all the sadder, however when predators would come."

"A sapling is a tree, not a person."

She tilted her head. "Not a person, an age. I am not far out of my sapling years myself. Do you have another name between seedling and maturity?"

Erik shook his head, wondering why on earth he had been burdened with such a strange girl.

Then he chastised himself for such thoughts, as he should be grateful for being in the company of any girl at all.

"I can assure you, the names do not equate to flora."

Christine shrugged and took another sip of water. "I do not know why you chastise me when we clearly mean the same things. You use strange words too but I do not criticise you for them."

He sighed the feeling of guilt pressing all the harder upon him. "You would not think it childish for a man grown to name his horse? You already said that it was the younger ones of your people that named the animals."

She shook her head firmly. "Not at all. I would think it shows that you have affection for those in your care. To name something is to give it more meaning to you." She picked up a stick that poked out from the fire pit, its tip burning brightly. He was surprised to see a flicker of fear on her face, though she tried valiantly to keep it hidden. "At home we did not have fires. Trees had names and voices—they had meaning. They are quiet now."

If ever a tone could be the epitome of wistful sadness, it would be hers. It resonated in some place behind his heart, and before he had realised he had done it Erik plucked the stick from her hand and cast it back into the fire. "I did not remove these limbs from live trees. They were already upon the ground." He did not know why he felt the need to defend his actions. The fire had kept her warm throughout the night and had heated their breakfast this morning. But even if her head was full of fancies—of trees with voices that she could no longer hear—he did not want her to think he would be violent with what she considered a friend.

He did not want her to think that he would be violent with _her. _

Erik briefly remembered his experience by the stream, of a whisper of voices that were not his own but that he had dismissed entirely. He was not of her kin, and there was no possibility that such could be true. Yet he hoped she would never speak of such things in front of a magistrate, as he feared she would be condemned as a witch for believing so.

She smiled at him wanly. "It comforts me to hear it." He did not like that expression on her face—eyes haunted with memory and loss even as she tried to keep her composure, seemingly for his sake. And he remembered that soft sleepy smile she had given him when she awoke, and he felt all the worse for it.

"Callum. His name is Callum."

She mouthed the name and looked back at his horse, grazing good-naturedly on whatever grasses caught his interest. He was a large animal, even for a horse, but he had not always been so. While most men would buy their horses trained and ready for a rider—especially a horse meant for war and travel—Erik had not done so. He was not always so capable as he was now, and he had found Callum half starved and beaten by a cruel master. He was not the great and powerful stallion he could have been, but instead had looked at him so forlornly that Erik had known he must intervene—to do anything else felt like the greatest sin of all.

He had been ready to murder the bumbling fool that called himself a horsemaster, but such had not proved necessary—at least, not strictly so. A jaunt to a local tavern and a few well placed bets left him with a full purse and a new horse, one that was once wary and frightened but now was more loyal than Erik could have ever hoped.

He was his friend.

"You care for him."

Erik scoffed. "Aye. Too well, the fat beast." But even he could hear the affection in his voice, and he hoped that Christine did not see it as a weakness. Surely he was allowed one friend in this world of rejection and misery...

And this time her smile was genuine and touched her eyes and made them sparkle. "I am glad. I do not think it is good for a man to be entirely alone. If they cannot have a female with them then at least their horse might be able to give a bit of sense."

This time it was his turn to glare but she smiled at him almost impishly and he realised belatedly that she was teasing.

It was odd and unwelcome and yet it caused a strange clutching in his gut as he realised that he _liked _it. He liked it coming from her for it bespoke of a familiarity that they as of yet barely shared.

"Come, I must tend to your wound and then I must depart."

Whatever calm and gentle comfort she had received quickly fled and she looked at him in panic. "What do you mean? You said I was to remain with you!"

Erik sighed. "And you shall. But if you think I am going to take you with me as I... fulfil the terms of my agreement, then you are gravely mistaken."

She stared at him for a long moment before her chin rose in defiance. "You may leave me here if you wish but you cannot keep me from following. I told you, I will not allow you to abandon me again."

Whether or not he intended it, there was no mistaking that this girl, this nymph, this angel, was wheedling her way into his heart.

But that did not mean he would allow her to speak to him in such a manner.

"I most certainly can, _my lady._ Though I can assure you, you would find it far more pleasant to simply agree. I shall return when my errand is complete and we may discuss where to travel next." He sighed, trying to cool his irritation as he approached her. She leaned away and eyed him suspiciously, and that simple act did little to help his agitation. "Be still, foolish girl, I must change your bandage."

She did not fight him as he removed the old bindings and exchanged them with another strip of his tunic. He made quiet hushing sounds as he doused the gash with more spirits and she cried out in pain, and he found himself rubbing soothing circles upon her arm before he stopped himself with a firm reprove.

Properly seen to and certain that she had enough food and water during his absence, he turned to leave. "Please, do not go. Do not make me chase you." Her eyes were wide and pleading, and that small fragment of his soul that was softening to this maiden demanded that he acquiesce.

But he knew that his primary task was to protect her, even against herself. It was too soon for her to trust him, to believe his word that he would return and he would not corrupt her with the violence and blood that would soon follow.

So he took a rope tied to the saddle—new and crisp and unspoiled by death—and brought her to a tree. She was crying as he wrapped more of his tunic about her wrist, a protective measure so that her delicate flesh would not be besmirched by the rasp of the rope, before looping the length of cord about her wrist and the trunk. She could move well enough, yet it would efficiently hold her to the camp without hurting her. "You shall have to trust me, nymph. I shall return for you. But what shall happen is not for your eyes, and I will not have your loss of innocence on my conscience."

And he tried desperately to ignore the look of betrayal as he rode away.

* * *

Sooo... did he... _really _just tie her to a tree and ride off? Now Callum, you turn back around right _now_! Just because Erik is being foolish doesn't mean you have to follow him. *sigh* Loyalty.

Thoughts? Outrage? How many think that was actually a _good _plan? Aannnyybody?


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, see now you guys have gotten yourselves in trouble! When you up your review amounts then I start to feel abandoned when they dwindle again… so you've set a dangerous precedence for everyone involved! And I am very glad of it. So please, keep it up!

To _principia_: Thank you for your constructive review, I do not take it as a flame. I cannot promise to make all the changes you suggested but I will definitely be mindful of it in future!

Warning: Remember Erik's pesky occupation we've been talking about? Yeah, you might be getting a better view of that this chapter... Somebody's not very good at doing what she's told, rope or no rope.

Onward!

* * *

IX

They had been having such a pleasant morning.

She had dreamed of his sweetness and his touches and his care, and he had nearly fulfilled such hopes when he gave her breakfast. And not only was she grateful for the food, but even more meaningful for her was the way he had wrapped her in his cloak—he had foregone his own comforts to see to hers.

And she was deeply touched, as he did not seem the kind of man to make such displays very often.

So she tucked away such moments in her heart, even as she sat against the great oak behind her, her wrist bound but otherwise unharmed. Eventually the tears had faded and she was left feeling morose—and, she could not deny, angry.

She had seen kindness in him. When he spoke of his horse, of Callum, there was genuine affection in his voice that gave her hope—but as he had grabbed her and bound her, she realised that he still had much to learn about the ways of bonding. No dryon from the High City would _ever _have abandoned their mate in such a manner.

He wanted her to _trust _him. Trust that he would return, that his desertion would not be forever.

She tugged at the rope once more, surprised to see it give slightly the harder she pulled.

And though tears prickled her eyes at the realisation, she decided that though he was boorish and _terribly _wrong to have done this to her, he was too afraid of hurting her to make the bonds too tight.

Now that she was calm enough to see how simple it was to escape, she did so hurriedly, determined to waste no more time with her ridiculous hysterics. She would remember the progress they had made as they spoke civilly, how he had allowed her first choice of their breakfast and had even provided cool water to quench her thirst.

She kept the strip of his tunic around her wrist, drawing comfort from its presence. While his deed had been foolish, the fact that he had thought to protect her delicate skin from the rough abrasion of the rope meant something to her—despite himself, he cared for her.

So she left it on and rubbed at it absently, her eyes closed as she tried to call upon the bond.

The more she considered her bond-mate and the thoughtfulness he had shown her just recently, the warmer she began to feel, and a gentle pull settled on her heart that drew her eastward.

She quickly took up the rest of the things he had left. While she intended to scold him quite firmly for his actions, she did not want him to be cross for her abandoning the rest of his things. He had left the flagon of water and a few biscuits for her and she tucked them into a pocket she found in his cloak. Finally she coiled the rope about her arm and placed it within yet another hidden fold, which oddly seemed suited for that purpose.

And then putting her faith in the almost non-existent tether that beckoned her forward, she departed.

Christine had no memory of Erik stopping for the night. Never in her life had she required as much sleep as she now seemed to, and she could not say that she relished this new development. Before her tree would quiet at twilight, and cool night breezes would lull it into slumber with her nestled in its branches.

But things were different now.

So very different.

Erik's small encampment had been away from the road, but not so far that it was difficult to find it again. She noted with an indignant sniff that it would still have been highly possible for other men-folk to have stumbled upon her should she have remained tied to the oak, and she was certain that not all of them would have been so helpful and amiable as the ones she had met thus far. Her ire prickled anew to think that her bond-mate could have left her in such danger, with nothing to defend herself—not even the ability to quickly climb a tree and hide if necessary.

The bottoms of her feet were sore from the many stones and twigs that were embedded in the hard-packed earth of road, and she grumbled as she walked, wishing she was once more in Erik's arms as they road steadily onward on Callum. Now that she knew his name she would like a proper introduction, perhaps if she was even brave enough she could touch the large nose that from afar looked so very soft.

Her pace quickened at the thought.

Before long she reached a village, larger than the small scattering of buildings that the tavern had been nestled between but not even remotely as impressive as the High City. Of course, it was difficult to compare the two civilisations, as humans appeared to make their shelters out of stone and mortar with thatched roofs instead of what was naturally supplied.

And she noticed with dismay that even her recollections of her beloved home seemed hazy, almost as if a dream from long ago.

For a moment she hesitated as to her direction and she turned abruptly at a whiff of something scrumptious diverted her attention from her rapidly deteriorating mood.

She had entered what appeared to be the centre of the town, as buildings flanked a large circle that was bustling with people. Wooden stalls with various wares were scattered about, with burly men and shrewd women calling out their goods.

Christine shrank back, not at all prepared to face such a crowd without her bond-mate there to guide her.

The noise was deafening as carts clamoured over cobblestones, and she saw two men come to blows when a barter soured.

She wanted her bond-mate.

And she wanted him _now._

She took a careful step back hoping that no one noticed her, and she felt the gentle pull of their bond drawing down a narrow opening between two neat rows of shops, and she felt grateful that Erik should have found a quieter place for disappearing.

Christine hurried onward, excitement growing at being reunited with him. Her brief encounter with _people _had made her forgive his brash action at tying her to the tree and leaving her, so grateful was she for the idea of his company once more.

She was not prepared for when she saw him.

There was no mistaking him, not only from the slight pull of her heart that made it so abundantly clear that this was in fact her mate, but also because of his towering height over the man with him. At her first fleeting look it appeared he was embracing the man from behind, his arms coming around him as the man struggled.

But soon she saw the glint of a dagger as it sliced cleanly through the man's neck, and Erik released him hurriedly.

And feeling utterly detached from what she witnessed, Christine realised he had allowed the man to crumple forward, hands desperately clutching at the wound at his neck, simply so that the blood that gushed forth so freely would not splatter on his armour.

"Why is it red?"

Erik's attention snapped to hers, and the way his eyes glowed like molten embers she wished she had remained silent.

He was furious.

And when he stalked forward she could not help but step backward, suddenly desiring with all her heart that she was once more bound to that tree.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was a low hiss that shuddered through her, and she clutched his cloak tighter about her, even as she felt tears prickle at her eyes.

She would _not _cry.

He might be tall and have just killed a man, but he was her mate and it was not possible that he would hurt her.

But as he stared at her with such rage that nearly bordered on hatred, for the first time she realised that perhaps a dryon might never harm his nymph, but there was nothing in their history that could assure her that a human mate might be able to keep himself from striking her.

She swallowed, every answer that her mind supplied feeling wholly inadequate for quieting his temper. So instead she took a steadying breath, trying to force herself to calm, even as she wanted to chastise him for leaving her, even as she wanted to beg him not to hurt her.

So instead she tugged at his cloak and stood taller, proud when her voice did not waver as much as she would have anticipated given how tight her throat had constricted. "Why is his blood red?"

Erik scoffed and his hand clutched her arm, pulling her behind him as he hurried back from whence she had come. And though she hated that she did so, she checked to see if the knife was still visible, a small part of her afraid he would use it on her. "All blood is red, stupid girl. But I believe I left you somewhere to wait for me so I would not be plagued by such ridiculous questions."

Christine struggled to keep up with his long strides as he nearly ran from the body of the man, now completely still in death.

She flinched at his ire, but her fear was rapidly being replaced by righteous anger of her own. How darehe call her stupid? So many times she had told him that their customs were different—that she could not be expected to know of his world when it differed so entirely from her own. But still he mocked and criticised, and she did not appreciate his surly ways. "You left me bound to a tree where any might have found me! What would you have done should you return and discovered my body? Would that at least have grieved you?"

Erik turned abruptly, bringing her close as his hands grasped her upper arms. "You ask me that? I told you to remain for you protection_, _not because I had hoped that some vagabond would come and maim you!"

Beneath the hiss of anger Christine could tell sense his sincerity, but that made her no more ready to forgive him. It might not have been his intention, but there was little excuse for his lack of forethought—not when it could have led to such disaster.

He released his firm grip on her arms and tugged insistently instead at her wrist, pulling her to where Callum patiently remained, looking rather forlorn that there were not grassy bits for him to munch on as he waited. Erik did not allow for Christine to give her consent before grasping her waist, but for some unexplained reason she knew that if she should allow him to put her upon the horse and ride away, nothing good could come of it. He was too angry, too volatile and full of blood lust to be fully aware of his actions, and that frightened her more than she cared to admit.

She lurched away harshly and ran back toward the bustle of people that had previously so intimidated her.

Erik was not one to make a spectacle, and surely if she could make it to where there were sufficient _people, _he would be forced to cool his temper before they made for their next destination—wherever that may be. He had said they would discuss it, and she tried to remember that indicated, no matter how small, that he would look for her input. Despite her earlier thoughts he was not always a brute, and she would have to cling to that remembrance if she was to keep her heart intact.

She ran.

The bond rippled with both his fury and the reminder that she was running away from her mate. Her heart ached but she tried valiantly to smother the longing to return—to soothe his bad humour in whatever manner she could.

But the part of her that did not know him kept her going, even as she heard the creak and clang of his armour as he pursued her.

The same luscious scents met her first before the murmurs of the crowd overwhelmed her, and she slowed only the better to blend into the throng. But still she went on, determined that he would have to find her in the middle of the market before she would approve of him taking her anywhere. She would not abandon him—no, would never do that—but it did not feel safe to be alone with him at this time.

They were so _loud._

Hers were a peaceful and quiet people, and though during festivals there could be many dancing and laughing under the stars and overhang of heavy boughs, it was never this boisterous. There was a soothing melody to her kin's timbre, yet these people haggled and argued with a perfunctory nature that was wholly foreign.

"You there, m'lady! Can I interest ye in any woollen garb? Finest in all Monavyn!"

So intent was she in listening for any sound of Erik's approach that she had not realised she was staring at a man in a stall. He had quite a few teeth missing but he smiled amiably as he waved her closer.

"Don't you be listenin' to a word he says, lass; McFarland's a swindler if I ever I saw one."

She started, not expecting anyone to touch her except perhaps her mate as he angrily pulled her from the market. But as she turned to demand she be released she was met with the warm smile of Harold and it soon matched her own. "Good morrow, friend! I am ever so happy to see you!"

His grin widened and he ushered her back to his own stall, his pipe waiting on a wooden board which he promptly picked up and settled in his mouth. "Glad to be hearin' a little lady like you appreciates me company. If I'd known you would be interested in market day I woulda offered ye a ride yesterday."

"Thank you, but I did not know I was to come here. My mate had business to see to and I was merely..." Her eyes strayed to flicker about the passersby, looking for Erik. With his long limbs it seemed impossible that she could have been so far ahead of him, so he must have chosen to allow her to disappear—or else he was even now galloping away on Callum and leaving her behind.

Her heart sank at the notion.

"Yer mate, eh? That anything like a husband? I'd hate for a pretty lass like you to be used without being wedded proper."

Christine blushed, not entirely sure how to answer. If Erik was to believed they had not been truly wedded_, _but Harold seemed disgruntled at the idea and for some reason she wished to please him. "It is. From where I hail he would be called a mate."

Harold's eyes narrowed as he eyed her up and down. It was an action she was used to, but this lacked the slight shiver of revulsion that it used to inspire as he appeared more interested in her garb. "Aye, you're not from around these parts. But it does me good to hear yer not livin' in sin."

She shook her head firmly, although she was not certain what error she would have been committing.

"So where is this mate a'yours? If you were my wife or even one of me daughters, I wouldn't be so quick to let ye wander off."

Christine hung her head, knowing that Erik had no intention of allowing her to _wander, _and it had been her decision to flee. Perhaps she had done something dreadful, offended some custom by being in public unattended and she was shaming him.

Her stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought.

"He was angry with me. I thought it best to leave him for a bit." She could not meet his eye, doubting her decision now. Erik had never actually hurt her beyond the accidental wound that led to their sealing, and she had most likely deeply insulted him by running as she did.

She searched for him through the bond, and gasped as she realised he had been lurking in the shadows behind Harold.

His arms were crossed over his chest as he emerged, his armour dark enough to allow him to fade away almost completely. "It seems at every turn I find you cavorting with another man."

Harold turned, his eyes widening as he observed Erik's height as it dwarfed his own slightly shrunken frame. "Got yourself a knight, did ye? Well, at least I can rest easy knowing you've picked a husband that's capable of bein' protective." But there was a firmness to his jaw that easily showed that he was assessing the relationship between the two and Christine remembered the stable boy's concern. And the guilt pressed all the harder against her that she too had doubted Erik's intentions. They looked at his features and thought him boorish and mean—and he _was _quite capable of being so—but Christine had seen him softer and should at the very least have tried to think better of him.

She stepped closer to Erik and reached out her hand.

Should her mate have been a dryon, he would have placed his forefinger about hers and possibly, if he was feeling particularly overt in his affections, pressed a kiss upon their conjoined appendages.

But Erik was not of her kin, and instead he tilted his head away with a sniff, and she was glad that the visor no longer covered his eyes so she could judge his mood more easily.

Her hand fell away and she felt terribly lonesome.

"Erik, this is Harold," and her eyes implored him to be civil. There no resemblance between this man and her father, but she found that there was a kindness in him and perhaps a crinkling of his eyes when he smiled at her that struck her as remarkably similar.

And she felt a twinge of loss that she should never introduce her bond-mate to her actual father, and this might be the closest encounter she should ever experience.

"I must thank you again for collecting my _wife. _She seems to have quite a knack for disappearing when it pleases her."

Harold chuckled, but Christine thought it sounded a little forced. "Me own wife does not have that trouble. Every fortnight she shoos me off to the market to sell me dyes and thread. Now that these bones are old I've started spending the night in the pub for a rest. And though she'd tell ye it was a terrible expense, I rather think she likes to be free of me for a night too."

Erik's eyes flashed towards Christine and she saw the barely concealed irritation still simmering within. "Indeed."

She flinched.

It did not escape Harold's notice and his mouth turned to a grim line, not at all the cheeky grin of which she had become accustomed.

"You sell thread? I am afraid I tore my gown and am in need of something to mend it."

He stared at her a moment longer his eyes flickering to Erik before nodding. "Aye, I've got something that'll fix it up nicely, but to match the purple of that gown it'll cost a wee bit extra." He glanced at Erik, his expression almost challenging. "That shouldn't be too much trouble for ye, right m'laird? Not when this fine lady should be treated with such care."

Christine hung her head, humiliation burning low within her. She was not being a good mate. Erik might have been failing in the same venture, but she had the benefit of knowing perfectly well what _made _for a good mate—and allowing others to constantly suggest that she was being mistreated was not at all fair to him.

"Nay. So name your price as we must depart." His tone was curt and it was obvious he had not missed the none too subtle insinuation from Harold. But just when Christine wished the earth would simply open where she stood and swallow her into its darkest depths, she heard him whisper, "Callum is waiting for us."

And suddenly she knew she had done rightly.

For his voice was softer, and some small part of their bond told her it was not merely because he spoke of his friend—it was for her.

His use of the word _us _made her heart swell for joy.

Hearing him be curt and short with another yet lower his voice and speak almost intimately to her of something he considered private sent her reeling.

And this time when she patted Harold's arm and thanked him profusely for the thread, she knew that all would be well.

* * *

Sooo... Who thinks Christine should have stayed put and Erik was right to be mad? Who agrees that she should have gone after him? Aaand if that meant seeing a little bit more of Harold... that's not so bad either... I'd love to know your thoughts!


	10. Chapter 10

I forgot it was posting day! Not the first time that's happened and it won't be the last, I'm sure.

No warnings this chapter! Just the hope that something will get through Erik's rather... well... considerably thick skull.

Onward!

* * *

X

It was better not to feel.

He was furious for her disobedience, as to his supreme horror, she had stumbled upon him in the very act he had not wanted her to witness. As he had expected she had flinched from him and looked so afraid when he approached, and that was never his desire.

Not from her.

When she had run he had almost considered leaving her. She had seen with her own eyes now the man she had chosen as a companion, and as he had believed she could not bear the truth. But with a growl he had stalked after her, not feeling the need to hurry. She would not get far, and he knew perfectly well that panic made one's decisions sloppy at best.

But seeing her run, run from _him_ made him ache in places he did not wish to consider.

So it was better to feel nothing at all, not in regard to her.

Erik hated market day.

He hated the people and the smells and the way that even in a crowded centre he could not disappear like anybody else. He was at least a head taller than the lot of them, and while such was helpful for looking past and through the busy streets for sight of the long hair barely contained by his cloak, in general he thought it a nuisance.

The anger flared anew when he discovered her speaking with a man. It did not matter that he was elderly, something in him prickled at always finding her in the company of another.

It was time they talked—really and truly discussed the nuisances of their ways of life, because he could not continue as they had been. To ignore it proved inefficient as at every turn it was once again obvious how she was not versed in how to approach his world.

She had told him she would keep after him until he accepted her as a mate, but did that mean she would remain faithful should he ever relent? Or was she merely intending to free herself from him by bedding him, their bond sealed and her duty done?

He bristled at the thought, and he determined that after he had collected her from this man's company, he would give her a stern talking to about what being his companion truly entailed.

Being alone in with other males would not be permitted, not when they seemed drawn to her like a fly to a honey pot.

The people gave him a wide berth, as they often did whenever he was desperate enough to join them.

When he drew closer he kept to what shadows he could, curious as to what they were discussing. The part of him that was convinced she could not possibly be as sweet and innocent as she appeared flared anew, and he needed to know if she abandoned the pretence when near another.

But she was as kind and gentle as she was with him—at least, until he provoked and badgered her into a display of her own, less than formidable anger.

He was only mildly surprised to hear this was the same man that had helped her on the road. Wemble was the primary inlet from the small villages—so small in fact that he would hardly consider them villages at all—that could not possibly support themselves should any of their members have a more specialised trade.

She had seemed wary of him at first, but quickly, and to his intense astonishment, she had appeared almost embarrassed. At first he assumed it was because of his own brusque manner, but something tugged and whispered to him that she was ashamed _for _him. And though foreign, he found himself agreeing with that interpretation, and the annoyance and anger at finding her began to wane.

Before he could quit the man and his spools of thread—what respectable man possessed such a trade?—he placed an age-worn hand on Erik's gauntlet. "M'laird, a moment."

Erik glowered, wanting nothing more than to return to his horse and be free of all of this. He did not like _people, _especially peasants who would seek to presume upon his relationship with Christine and give him unsolicited advice.

"Speak quickly, I have matters to attend to."

He glanced away from the man to ensure that Christine was in fact waiting for him. He did not relish the idea of hunting her down twice in one day.

She was being lured by a smiling and rotund woman, evidently intent on a supposed noblewoman wearing her stock.

The interlude might cost him a few coins, but she would be safe enough.

He turned back to Harold.

"Marriage is a tricky business at the best of times—I should know, I've been wed for... well... I can hardly recall a time before I was wedded to my Grace."

Erik's glower became an exasperated huff. "Is there a point to this that we might reach in the near future?"

Harold was a frail man, that much was certain, but when he rose to what height he did possess and gave Erik a disparaging look of his own, Erik could see the remnants of a once capable soldier. Now he might puff about with his pipe and sell his dyes and spools of thread, but there had been many wars in his lifetime and obviously he had been forced into the throes of them. "A wife is a treasure, m'laird, and I won't apologise for sayin' it. That girl is the best thing that will ever happen to ye, even if all the kings in the all lands grant ye land and titles. I was once gruff and surly and could snap at the best of them, but with a wife that will only lead to her cryin'. And there i'nt much worse than a woman in tears, especially when her smilin' at ye with all her sweetness makes ye feel like the grandest of husbands."

Erik stared, torn between rebuffing his words on principle—he was not one to be lectured by any man—but there was a truth and sincerity in his words that caught him unawares. Because whether he wished to acknowledge it or not, he already felt that he had seen too much of Christine's unhappiness, and her smile was indeed one of the most beautiful things he had ever beheld.

But words failed him so he gave a curt nod instead before going to collect his companion from the woman currently thrusting a cloak about her shoulders. "A fine lady such as ye'self should have a proper cloak, not one that looks like ye stole if off a man's back!"

She went to unhook the clasp of his cloak and remove it from about Christine's shoulders, and an all too familiar anger flared anew. When he had given her his cloak it was the first time he felt as though he had treated her rightly—like the lady that she was— and to see this woman disparage it left him feeling bereft.

But before he could intervene and snatch her away, away from all these people with their advice and judging eyes, Christine was clutching it closed as she fumbled with the clasp and began to back away. "This was a present from my mate, and I'll not have you touching it!"

The portly woman blinked at her before her gaze settled on Erik. She curtseyed low, her cheeks an unflattering crimson. "M'laird, I meant no harm in it."

He knew that. This was not his first experience in a market, and all of these sellers were trying their very best to make their wares seem the best and most desirable. But she had offended some hidden part of him that he had yet to examine, and although he knew it would be wise to give Christine a cloak of her own—he would have need of his own eventually—now was not the time. Not when the anger simmered and the shame bubbled, and all he wanted to do was flee.

Except fleeing now included collecting Christine, and as she followed the woman's stare behind her she hurried to him, all wide eyed innocence as she looked at him expectantly. "Are we leaving now? Was Harold pleasant?"

Erik harrumphed before striding away briskly, wanting to be free of this place as quickly as possible.

But before he could get too far ahead he hesitated.

She was a lady, whether he found her in the woods or in the finest palace in all the kingdoms. So he stopped and waited for her to scurry to his side before he extended the crook of his arm.

She stared at his curiously. "Is your arm injured? I cannot tend to it with your armour in place."

Despite himself, Erik released a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Nay. Traditionally a lady would take a knight's arm as he escorted her home. I was merely attempting at courtesy." Belatedly he realised his error, and his arm fell away. She would not _want _to touch him, even with his skin safely hidden away behind metal plates, and he was a fool for offering it.

Before he could turn away completely she gasped—and were those tears in her eyes?—and she clutched at his arm as she tried to reposition it as it had been. "I am sorry, I did not know. Thank you for telling me."

That was not what he wanted. He did not want her touch out of obligation or her misunderstanding that custom and polite behaviour meant she was duty bound to comply. But as he opened his mouth to tell her this, to wrench away to nurse his hurts in peace, he saw her—truly saw her.

She _beamed._

Her smile was only small and soft, but there was a happiness in her expression that was impossible to deny.

It made him despise all the more the way he had treated her previously.

A flash of memory at the fear in her eyes as he had approached her in the street after his assignment had been dispatched haunted him. She was putting her faith and trust in a brute with little tenderness to offer a delicate woman such as herself, yet she did so all the same. And he had scorned and blustered and made her experience terror—and he had never felt more of a monster.

He swallowed thickly, purposefully keeping himself from looking at her as he led them through the crowd and back to Callum. "We are going to speak, you and I. We are going to come to an understanding," _for my sanity_, he added silently.

From the corner of his eye he saw the brief moment of worry cross her features before she hid it away. "If that is your wish."

They continued in silence, Callum waiting precisely where he had been left. He appeared a cross between forlorn and impatient at his abandonment, and Erik patted his neck firmly in comfort. "My apologies, friend. But our companion felt the need to flee and it would have been rude not to retrieve her."

Callum jerked his head obstinately, and Erik could not help but chuckle as he gave one last pat of good will. "You know that if I put her in charge of your carrots you would come to love her in no time," he murmured, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Christine staring with a furrowed brow.

"Are you speaking of me?"

Erik drew to his full height, resolute that he would not be ashamed of speaking to his horse, and approached her purposefully. This time he did not hesitate before hoisting her onto the saddle. Hesitation meant she could squirm away, and he had experienced quite enough of that this day.

There was another, more visceral reason he had to keep his movements brisk when necessity demanded he touch her. He _wanted _to linger. He wanted to find a reason to keep his hands wrapped about her trim waist as he slowly and oh so gently placed her on the saddle, only to follow himself as he continued the torment by pulling her closer to the crook of his body as they rode onward.

But such thoughts were dangerous and wholly unwelcome.

So he kept his moves perfunctory and his touches quick so as to keep from bothering her overly much.

His grip on her as they rode however could not be helped, and he reminded himself of that firmly as he prodded Callum into a walk. There was no rush, no pressing task that demanded completion—and in truth, there was also little direction. Erik had promised to talk with her of where they should go next, and he fully intended to keep to his word. But first he would have to report back to the one who had hired him, and that meant travelling many leagues eastward.

"Well? Your previous chivalry is waning if you do not give an answer. I shall be forced to assume that you were whispering all kinds of dreadful things about me and now Callum will never like me."

To Erik's surprise, she sounded perfectly serious. Her hands, which had previously been tucked firmly about his neck as she feared for her life as they galloped along the road, were now in her lap, inching ever closer to play with Callum's mane.

He very nearly increased his pace simply to have her clutch at him again.

But he contented himself with his arm about her waist, holding her steady and necessarily close to him—far closer than was good for either of them.

"I can assure you, his dislike of you would stem more from your flight and his master's subsequent need to catch you which left him without greens to nibble than anything I might have said."

Her worried eyes met his, and he nearly regretted his dry words. "I was wrong to have run. You are my bond-mate and I promised to remain at your side and I have already failed. I beg your forgiveness."

Erik groaned, not at all finding comfort in her words. _He _was the one who should shower her in apologies, not the other way around. For her to suggest that the fault was hers should have given him relief. His guilt could be absolved for she was willingly accepting blame for all that had transpired.

The power would once more be his.

But that was ridiculous in the extreme for as his grip on her tightened when Callum stumbled slightly on an errant cobblestone, as he knew from the moment he first saw her, Christine wielded more power over him than any other who had come before.

He swallowed thickly, reminding himself firmly that he was the one to tell her they would speak. Nevertheless, he had not intended to be on a horse. There would be a crackling fire and food warming on the spit and he would have _distractions _should he require them. But instead she was still watching him with that imploring look, as if his next declaration should have the ability to shatter her.

He rather supposed it did.

"Christine, why do you think I bound you to the tree?"

That seemed to surprise her, but she swiftly averted her gaze and resumed twiddling Callum's mane between her fingers.

Erik sincerely hoped she did not begin to braid it, for he would be damned before he rode a war horse gussied up like a prancing pony.

"You did not want me to follow. You did not believe that I would obey you when you told me to stay."

He grimaced, the word _obey _making him uncomfortable. She was not a dog for him to command, and he did not want her thinking that of him.

"I did so because I did not want you to see me at work. You say you do not know much of my world, and that is true. That is _good. _I will... attempt to be more forthcoming in matters that are appropriate for you to know and understand, but you must also trust me when I deny you. Some things are simply better left unknown."

She was quiet for a long while, and Erik would have enjoyed the fine breeze, the warm body pressed against him, and the knowledge that he had completed his task well if not for the tension coiled in his belly that her silence could not bode well.

"Why was his blood red?"

She spoke so softly that he would never have heard except that he listened and watched so intently for any sign of her thoughts. He stiffened, not certain if he should respond.

They had exited the city and Erik allowed Callum to plod back from whence they had come. It had been his intention to return, and he would have if Christine had not followed him. He should like to provide her a bed. Not only because he had begun to miss the comforts of his own bedroll, but also because she deserved the ease and security of a room with a lock, and the ability to have some peace without his presence.

But she had made an inquiry, the second time she had asked it of him, and this time her voice was entreating him and sounded so very lost that it sent an ache in his chest.

"What are you?"

He should not have asked—it was an errant thought that he did not want to truly consider. She was a maiden, fine and fair, and that was all. Raghnall might have implied they were of another race, another _kind, _entirely, but that was nonsense.

And he wished he could rescind his question even as she stared up at him, confusion evident. "You know what I am. You call me nymph, after my people."

This was not the conversation he intended to have. They were going to settle matters between them—decide that when he must complete an _errand, _she would remain behind so as not to be tainted by what he must do.

And certainly not debate on whether myths and legends were true.

Erik had killed many. The tone of their flesh, their land of birth, it did not matter. All of them bled the same red—assuming he dispatched of them in such a messy way of course.

But not her.

When his arrow pierced her, the blood that issued forth so profusely was not like any he had seen. He had dismissed it at the time, as he had been terribly upset by the whole dreadful business and was more concerned about _her _than her peculiar physiology.

"That is not why I call you that."

His voice was hoarse as he grappled with the possibility of her being not exactly human.

Her brow furrowed, and he suppressed the urge to drop the reins and smooth away the fine line with a fingertip. "Then why? I assumed it was because you believed me."

Erik shook his head, groping through his mind for a response that would not be insulting. His tone when he used the term was usually biting, nearly hurtful in some way as if he was distancing himself from her unearthly beauty.

It was not as though he could call her _angel, _even if it had been his first impulse.

Erik saw the small divot in the forest that signalled their previous night's encampment.

He needed a moment. They should move on, find proper shelter, warm beds, and a meal—perhaps frequent the tavern he had found this... creature in before.

Christine seemed surprised to return, but meekly allowed him to help her down from Callum, who immediately went to his favoured greens from earlier and munched contentedly.

Erik walked away, his mind revolting against the possibility of accepting that Christine could be anything but a maid.

Her head was bowed as she stood where his bedroll had once been laid, and he took in her qualities, not for the first time. Hair longer than he had ever seen, remarkably untangled from her sojourns. She knew not of eating, she had no _shoes_, and her people banished her for merely touching the likes of him.

He swallowed, a peace settling over him the longer he pondered and maybe—just maybe—began to think that it might be true.

"Does this mean I am entitled to a wish?"

* * *

Sooo... hope! You're alive! Who thinks he can actually manage to come around and believe her? And who thinks that we should all just run off and eat honey-cakes with Harold and leave them to their own devices? No one? Really? Fiiine...

Please take a moment to review! Perhaps you shall have the power to frighten away the beginnings of this cold! (Which is not at all fair since I already had a terrible cold this year and supposedly adulthood dictates that you only get sick once a year or so. Adulthood is a lie.)


	11. Chapter 11

I do believe your reviews staved off the worst of my cold! Though at this moment I do feel like my head is going to explode. Where is Erik with a special potion when you need him?! Or I suppose in this case a bond-mate with nymph powers and a wish up for grabs. Or just someone with more cold medicine. Eiiither way...

Onward!

* * *

XI

Christine looked up at him in surprise. "I have no such power to offer you. I am sorry if that is a disappointment."

Erik chuckled lowly, not the least amount of humour in the sound. "Pity. That could have made this entire interlude worth it if only..."

He turned from her and removed his helm, and she watched the back of his head as he smoothed a mask over his features before facing her.

"Why do you wear that?"

He stiffened, and there was no mistaking the resentment that kindled at her enquiry. She returned her gaze to the forest floor, ashamed at her inability to communicate with him properly. Must she anger him at every turn?

"What do you remember of me? Of my face?"

Christine shuddered, not liking to think back on the pain, the horrible pain that had left her breathless and so terribly afraid. But she tried to push away those thoughts and focus on her first glimpse of her mate. "You... I did not find you very fair."

Erik snorted, a curious sound. "Nay, I do not suppose you would." He moved closer. "I wear the mask to stem the stares, to quiet the tongues, and keep the mother's from clutching their children to their breasts." He crept closer still, and she could feel that rippling of fear once more in her belly and she had to purposefully keep from moving away from him. He leaned forward, his voice nothing more than a menacing hiss of air as it met her ear. "For do you not realise, your _mate _is nothing more than a demon?"

She recoiled.

Her throat tightened as all the memories of her _adar _telling her of demons and devils, vicious, unseen creatures that lived only to cause harm and unrest to the natural world threatened to break through the haze that seemed to cloud so much of her past.

She stared at him. His eyes were narrowed, and he almost appeared to be _waiting_ for something.

Waiting for her.

Waiting for her to flee, to run, to curse him as she suddenly realised so many must have done to him.

He was not comely, there was no denying it. From what little she remembered of his visage, that much was still certain. But he was her mate, and she felt it deep within her very soul that he was simply a man.

A man who had known far too much pain and despair.

A lump formed in her throat as she recognised the same sorrow in her heart upon losing her kin.

"You should not say such things. I may not know much of your world, but I do know of the work of demons. You should not say such things about yourself."

His lips pursed into a thin line and he drew back to his full height. "You saw me murder a man this day, and yet you suggest that our work is not similar. Is that truly the mate you desired?"

She wanted to cry. She wanted to yell at him that _of course _he was not what she always dreamed of when she pictured the handsome dryon that would someday lay claim to her.

But instead she looked up at him with all the strength she could muster—for she could not help but notice that she alone was supporting their tenuous bond, and it was exhausting to the extreme. "You are the only one I have and I must accept you as you are."

Erik blinked and stepped back, and she could not decide if she was relieved or despondent that he was no longer so near.

He walked away from her and leaned his head against the trunk of a tree, his shoulders hunched and appearing heavy burdened. She fought down the desire to go to him—to offer what little comfort she could—knowing that she must give him time to collect his thoughts.

"Imagine..." He stopped with a sigh.

"Yes?"

She took a step forward, the better to see what little she could of his face. His eyes were tightly shut and for a moment she thought he vaguely resembled one of the children she had admired in the forest, playing seeker in the woods, squeezing his eyes closed until such time when he could find wherever nook his sister had hidden away within.

"Imagine you were a burden—that you were ugly and repulsive and had nothing to offer your mate except misery and death. That upon your meeting he had been hurt terribly and was now forbidden from ever seeing his family again. Would you not wish to free him if you could?"

She could not help but blink back tears, for even as he spoke the words she knew that he _believed _them.

And it broke her heart.

"You truly feel this way? That I see you as a burden?" She could barely form the words, and if possible his shoulders hunched further.

_"Yes."_

Christine staggered backward, her hands clutched to her breast as she tried to stem the pain. She had been wrong, so dreadfully wrong. The throbbing, shooting hurt of the arrow as it separated muscle and sinew was nothing in comparison to this desperate knowledge that she had failed, so utterly and completely, to be what her mate needed.

She needed his help, that much was certain. To navigate this strange new world was a daunting enterprise, and she felt ill equipped and lost unless he was beside her.

But obviously, and she realised her grave error in not noticing it sooner, he required her help as well.

To soothe the hidden places of his heart where others had inflicted harm.

To show him that he was desirable as a bond-mate.

To show him that she cared for him.

For despite their wretched beginnings, there could be no denying that she did. She wished for his happiness, for him to laugh without scorn, to touch her gently as he held her in his arms and whispered of his love and affection.

She would be merciless.

She would heap such gentleness and fondness upon him until he could not help but reciprocate. For her brave knight was not so very brave in this.

But she could be.

Christine went to him and laid her hand softly on his shoulder, a twinge of sadness creeping through her as he stiffened at her touch. "My poor, poor, Erik. I have failed you so."

His eyes squeezed tighter and he turned his head away, and with trembling fingers she followed. She did not remove his mask—would not hurt him in that way when it so clearly would cause him discomfort—but she allowed her fingers to brush through his dark hair, surprisingly silky for a man's.

And she realised with a bemused smile that she was just as new to this as he was. She did not _know _the texture of a man's hair as she had never felt it. Her _adar's _had been soft and clean, and when she was a seedling she remembered running her fingers through the long strands as he told her stories of the Old Days.

Touching at all was still a novelty to her, so long forbidden except the occasional nudge against a sisterling or the brush of fingertips between parent and child.

But this was a wholly different action, one that felt right and true—as if for the first time she was performing her duty as a bond-mate well.

Erik shuddered from her ministrations before meeting her gaze, his expression more vulnerable than she had ever seen. "You mock me."

She shook her head sadly. "Never. Not about this. I have failed so completely in being a proper mate. I should have made you feel that we were _meant _to have bonded, that I encouraged our sealing, not left you wondering if I despised you for not being what I had always imagined." She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his arm, suddenly hating the cool metal that kept her from connecting with him. "And for that I am truly sorry."

"You take too much responsibility on yourself. When I consider how I have treated you..." She glanced up, only to find that he seemed to be looking far away, even as his eyes were settled upon her. "I am ashamed. Neither of us asked for this, yet I punished you for it. That is inexcusable."

Christine disagreed but said nothing.

He sighed, and she could not help but notice that his breath quivered, much as hers did when she was struggling against tears. "Perhaps... we should begin anew. I will do my best to believe your experiences, as incredible as I find them, and you shall... attempt to forgive me for not treating you as a lady deserves. I shall do my best to rectify that in future."

Erik was trying, she knew. But his proposal did not seem sufficient. She would forgive him, of course she would, but there were things she felt must be acknowledge aloud. "A counter proposal, if you are amiable." She waited for his nod of approval before continuing. "You shall not dismiss my past, and you shall tell me what you desire in a mate... a wife. You shall not fight me as I try to strengthen our bond, and you shall not..." she swallowed, urging her tears to quiet so he could not accuse her of using them to manipulate him. "You shall no longer say that I desire another. You shall try to believe me that I am satisfied with our sealing, and that I would have us be happy. Together."

"Christine..."

"No, Erik, please do not dismiss me. I do not know of your upbringing and you will barely tolerate speak of mine, but it is foolish to ignore it if we are to ever understand one another! And I realise I may ask too much for you to... try to find me desirable as your mate, but..._oh_..."

A horrible thought entered her mind. He had said that he had no other, that he was unbound at the time of their sealing, but what if... what if he did not wish to be faithful to her? Perhaps his reticence stemmed from his desire to be with other women—females of his own kind. Too often she had assumed that their ways were similar. But what if in this, this fundamental and soul-sealing aspect, they were different?

She had witnessed assignations in the forest before. In truth, many of the animal species did not mate for life. But they were most certainly _not _animals, and the idea of him wishing to be with others, perhaps _dozens _while she would pine and feel his pleasure through their bond...

It was too much to bear.

Erik looked nearly panicked as she stumbled away, shaking her head furiously as she did so.

"What is it? What is wrong?"

"Tell me true, Erik. Is the reason you do not wish to be my mate that you lust for others? That you fear if you are with me that you cannot be with women ever again should you desire them?"

He blinked, reaching for her even as she huddled away from him.

"How can... how can you ask that of me? Did you not hear what I just said?"

He came forward and she felt the sturdy trunk of a tree behind her back as she stepped backward yet again. "No, _no! _In this, in this you shall understand!" He was upon her, his hands gripping at her wrists and his eyes forceful. But while she expected him to be harsh, his eyes blazing with anger even as his fingers dug into her wrists, she found that it was not so. His touch was gentle as he allowed his bare fingers to skim the slivers of flesh her sleeves revealed, and she shuddered at the intensity of the sensation, echoed heartily through their bond. And his eyes, oh his eyes! They were bright and nearly desperate as he sought hers. "You think I do not desire you? That I would spurn you and dishonour you should I ever be graced with you as a wife? No man would ever dream of turning from you if he should be fortunate enough to secure your love."

He leaned forward, his breath warm upon her ear. "But I do not _have _your love, nor do I deserve it." Erik allowed his lips to glide over the pale skin beneath her ear, and she shuddered at the strange feel of his flesh mixed with the texture of his mask. "And that is what keeps me from surrendering to you completely."

He pulled away, and instantly she missed the feel of him. Perhaps she should have been nervous with him looming above her, pressing against her, but instead she felt _safe. _No one could touch her, no one would harm her—not when she was in the cocoon made of her bond-mate's imposing figure.

She felt a blush rising in her cheeks at her thoughts, and she diverted her mind to think of his reassurances. He wanted no other, and her heart leapt for joy.

"I... I do not ask for your surrender. I ask for your willingness to _try._"

He scoffed. "I see little difference. Caring for you would be no great difficulty, but I refuse to be a love-sick fool who craves your companionship while you..." he waved vaguely over her person.

She was mildly affronted. "I what? Mock you for your affections? Desert you at my whim?" Christine took a steadying breath, knowing her anger would contribute nothing but raised voices and hurtful words. "Erik, you are making this far more difficult than it need be. I am not like those you have previously met, I am sure you have realised. I will not be as cruel as they—not when I only wish for your happiness."

He shook his head, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he stared down at her. "None have ever wished for such a thing before, so forgive me for being wary." But his tone was incredulous and she had to control the urge to stamp her foot in frustration.

She wanted to go back to comforting him, to soothing as best she could and in turn, soothing the part of her soul that was bound to his.

She was tired of quibbling. Perhaps when their roots were more established these small arguments could fade with remembrances of sweeter moments, but Christine was all too aware that their discord far outnumbered the few happenings of tenderness.

Christine sank to the forest floor, leaning her head back against the firm and stable tree trunk. "What would you have me do, Erik? You know of my willingness to be whatever you need of me, but first you must cease comparing me to those you have known before. I certainly do not compare you to Raghnall!"

She knew it was the wrong thing to say as his eyes darkened and his expression hardened. And she could not help the tears that threatened to burst forth at the knowledge that no matter how she tried, they _never _seemed to communicate properly.

Erik opened his mouth. Then he closed it again with a firm _snap _and strode toward Callum. For a brief instant she was certain he was leaving her and she had neither the energy nor the will to call him back to her. But instead he rifled through his bag, grumbling all the while.

Christine tried not to pay attention, the weariness and hopelessness settling over her nearly as tangibly as his cloak about her.

Her eyes were closed even as she felt the wetness on her cheeks that made it abundantly clear that despite her efforts, she was weeping. But soon she felt a presence above her, looming and unyielding and she was rapidly coming to associate that feeling with that of her bond-mate.

"The sweetie you requested." He said the name with a barely disguised curl of his lip, almost as if the treat offended him. His hand was extended and wrapped in a thin and slightly ragged cloth was a food item that nearly resembled the biscuit he had offered her before, only this appeared nearly wet with moisture—an odd thing to be sure.

"What is it?" She sniffled, trying to cease her tears. They would only anger him further, she knew, and she felt oddly touched that even in his exasperation he was taking care of her instead of making her feel worse.

Perhaps there was hope for them after all.

"I believe it is a form of honey-cake. Far too sweet for my taste, but you may enjoy it." She stared at it a bit longer, and he sighed before kneeling before her. He took one of her hands in his before placing the sweetie in her palm. She stared at him disbelievingly, not at all prepared for this act of chivalry.

"Thank you," she whispered, not wanting to disturb the moment with more of her ill-conceived words.

He nodded swiftly before finally removing his hand from beneath hers and rose. "I shall not be offended if you do not care for it. It was your friend Harold after all who suggested it, not I."

She nibbled her lip, trying to decide if her stomach was interested in this new and strange delicacy. It gave no answer, even when she prodded it lightly with a fingertip.

Erik snorted as he leaned carelessly against a tree. "Are you waiting for your stomach to speak to you again? I can assure you, if I perform my duty appropriately you shall not reach that level of hunger often. Simply taste it."

She blushed, grateful for his explanation though slightly embarrassed at having done something foolish yet again. She took a small bite and held it in her mouth, wondering at the flavour. It was sweet, to be sure, and the honey—something she knew of!—gave it a moistness that was decidedly pleasant.

Christine ate it with vigour.

Erik chuckled. "I cannot say I am surprised, you seem like one that would have a fondness for sweet things."

She swallowed, thinking it would most likely be impolite to speak to him with her mouth full of honey-cake. "Is that bad? Should you have preferred a mate who did not?" She touched the remainder of her treat forlornly, wondering now if she should pretend indifference. She did so wish to please him.

Erik sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do not do that. If there is one thing I shall not abide from this entire confusing affair is for you to deny your preferences in order to become who you _think _I desire. So eat heartily, for I do not know when we shall pass that way again."

She cocked her head, deciding to savour every bite if it could not be a regular occurrence. "Will we not be passing by the tavern again? We seem to be on the same road."

He looked mildly surprised. "Aye, we shall. But we have a king to speak to and I had not intended for us to stay the night."

Christine pressed her finger to the shabby cloth, collecting whatever crumbs she could before licking them off with her tongue.

Erik watched her intently, and she blushed yet again, although she was not entirely certain as to why.

"Should you... care to stay the night? I do not know what your home was like, but I would imagine you miss a warm bed and a roof over your head to keep out the night air."

He appeared awkward, almost as if he was unaccustomed to asking for an opinion instead of plunging ahead with whatever plan best suited him.

She smiled at him in gratitude, his obvious effort to include her doing more to sweep her sadness than even the sweetie. "I am used to sleeping in my tree, surrounded by my people. But things are different now, and I should very much like to try this _bed _you speak of."

Erik brusquely nodded. "Very well then, a bed you shall have."

And perhaps she should have insisted they stay, at least until more things had settled. She so wished he would come to accept that she did not see him as others did.

But with the honey-cake sweet on her lips, and his obvious care and attention even in the midst of his ire, perhaps things had been nearly settled after all.

* * *

Sooo... Do mine eyes deceive me? Are they getting somewhere?! I think they had an actual meaningful conversation! Only took... 11 chapters. These two are not known for their speed...

Next up, Erik tries his hand at taking better care of her. Nothing can go wrong with that, right?


	12. Chapter 12

Now, see, I told you this would happen! You spoil me with reviews and then disappear! *longsuffering sigh* I'll just be sad over here alone... hoarding chapters and snippets that don't get shared...

Also, this was the first of a few "Mega Chapters" that have surfaced throughout this story so far. They just... wouldn't end, no matter how I tried! So enjoy your extra-long chapter!

Onward!

* * *

XII

She slept in _trees. _

Like some sort of forest urchin whose parents could not provide a proper home.

Erik felt guilty the moment such thoughts entered his mind, as he was no better. She at the very least had been happy and contented with her family, and he could only provide a meagre bedroll—not a manor and servants to dote on her like was befitting her person.

Their conversation had not gone as he had intended, but he was quickly coming to realise that planning anything at all with this girl—_woman—_was generally for naught. He would perpetually be lost and confused, fumbling about for the proper way to speak and treat her, while she smiled and cried and apologised in equal measure.

It had to end.

For his sanity, they had to come to an accord, one that left him feeling less of a monster and with her relatively satisfied with the arrangement.

Erik was a creative man. Whether it was allowing himself a few stolen moments composing on his lyre when none could hear him, or by deciding how best to dispatch whatever unfortunate soul he was charged with killing, he usually was able to ensure a modicum of imagination.

But not in this.

Not when he still found it so incredibly unbelievable that she could _want _him. Perhaps not in the physical way, she had not mentioned that, yet he could begrudgingly acknowledge it was never far from his mind. But she at least desired his company and that was more than any other had allowed.

He had promised her a bed—something she claimed never to have experienced. She had begged him, or possibly more accurately _demanded _he make an effort to believe her when she made such curious declarations, and he noted with a grimace that he was already failing in still that.

What he had not considered was the prospect of her _in _a bed. All feminine beauty, reclined, vulnerable, and sleepy as he decided to wake her with the press of his lips upon hers, his body soon to follow.

Two rooms.

On that he would not bend.

If there were any unsavoury characters he might feel compelled to stand guard outside her door, but it was too dangerous, too tempting to even consider the notion of sleeping in the same room—let alone the same bed as this little nymph.

"Can we remain here a while? I should like to speak further."

He grimaced but mimicked her position some distance away, leaning against a tree of his own. He unsheathed his sword and lay it on the mossy ground beside him, ready to make use of it should any stumble upon their location.

"What else is there to say?"

Too much, he knew, but he thought it best to allow her to guide their talk as he seemed to do nothing but cause misunderstandings and arguments between them.

Not that she fared much better.

"Do you believe me? That I am a nymph?" Her eyes were wide and imploring but she quickly looked away, a sadness setting over her. "_Was _a nymph. I do not know what I am now."

Erik hesitated, knowing he must speak carefully lest he insult her. "I believe you are from a different people, though I do not yet know what that means."

Her head tilted. "You have heard stories about us, surely."

"Aye, fantastical stories that you have already stated cannot be fulfilled. Which then leads me to consider that you are merely human beings playing in the trees."

Her mouth dropped open, aghast at his suggestion. "We are not _men. _We are dryads and dryons, people and protectors of the forest. We are born and tied to our trees, and can speak to others." Her hand reached out to touch a large exposed root at her side. "I miss that so..."

Erik's eyes narrowed. It was simple enough to believe a group of men and women wished to abandon the absurdity of a monarch's rule and sought shelter in the trees. It was something else entirely to accept they were not of the same kind as he.

Christine's brow suddenly furrowed, and he wondered what could make her think so very hard. "You said that you spoke to Raghnall."

He huffed, still not liking the way his stomach twisted uncomfortably when the man's name spilled from her lips. "Aye, I did. He threatened to kill me."

She blinked at that, and to his increased ire a sad smile appeared. "He was a good friend, though he should not have done so."

"Was there a reason you brought up the man yet _again_, or did you merely do so to annoy me?"

She rolled her eyes. "I do not know why hearing that someone cared for me should be troublesome to you. I should like to know that you were loved!"

He scoffed. "Were you not moments ago wondering if I intended to take a mistress while _bonded _to you? I think you quite capable of expressing jealousies of your own."

Christine looked properly abashed at that and fiddled with the root once more. "Raghnall does not speak the common tongue, only nymphlin. I do not understand how you could have conversed."

Erik froze. "I can assure you, I did not lie. We did meet and exchanged words. They were unpleasant and I might have slightly strangled him, but I am offended that you should think me deceitful."

She appeared rather horrified at his confession, and he regretted mentioning the other aspect of their meeting.

"Why would..."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Did I not already mention he threatened to kill me? I do not take kindly to such suggestions, as ridiculous as the prospect truly was, yet I would think you would come to my defence."

He peered at her pointedly and her head bowed. "You are right. Of course you may defend yourself against one determined to see you harmed."

Erik sniffed, glad of her concession.

"But that does not explain _how _you conversed! He could not have learned enough of the common words to speak to you properly!"

"You appear to have little trouble. Perhaps our languages are not as different as your assume."

She gave him a look of pure exasperation. "Raghnall was a guard. Only those sent out to lead away strangers were taught how to speak it, as it was necessary to know of their intentions."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting?"

She tugged at a few errant grasses, her eyes refusing to meet his. "I am suggesting that perhaps our bonding had unforeseen consequences." Her shoulders hunched and she drew up her knees, and he thought the posture quite like a child—fearful and alone. "I cannot speak it anymore, you know. I try to remember and only a few words come. The rest...it is all a blur. Like I only dreamed of it."

He suddenly wished he had waited to provide her the treat, as she seemed in need of its sweet distraction now than ever before.

But there was nothing left but his own unpractised sympathy, and he felt sorry for her indeed that she only had the likes of him to rely on for comfort.

"What do you remember of home?"

She glanced at him in apparent shock, and he felt a flicker of the ever-present guilt at the tears shining in her eyes. "You truly wish to know? You will not ridicule me for them?"

He flinched, resolving once again to mind his tongue around this delicate creature. "You have my word, I shall not mock you."

Christine stared a moment longer, evidently judging his sincerity. He met her gaze and held it, willing her to understand that he did not wish for her tears— or her unhappiness.

"I remember the sounds of the forest at night, of wild things hunting and pouncing in the darkness, and feeling so very safe for I knew that the High City was well protected. I remember my sisterlings, how they used to help me with my hair since..."

She stopped and her lower lip trembled.

Erik wished he was seated closer so he could still it with his thumb.

"Since?"

Christine took a shuddering breath, but thankfully her tears fell no faster than before. "They helped me for I had no _amé _to do so. _Adar _would have offered but..." She blushed. "Only one's bond-mate is to help with it, not any other dryon. Not even my father."

He was not prepared for that. To hear of the duties of a bond-mate—which he still was not prepared to accept as his own—sent a flare of longing that was decidedly unwelcome.

He _wanted _to help her.

Erik wanted to keep her tangled locks perfectly in place, a glistening sheet of tresses so perfectly managed that his fingers could slip through it like strands of silk from the crown of her head all the way to her hip, only to then make the journey again.

And then possibly caress that same hip if she should be so agreeable.

"It must look frightful." She pulled a lock self-consciously, the blush never managing to quiet.

"If it does then apparently that is my fault for not tending to it."

He did not mean to sound curt, but even as the words escaped he realised how she would perceive them. It troubled him, for how could it not? Not when he was reminded yet again of her expectations—ones that he would quite willingly perform if he was any other man.

Any other man who was worthy of her.

She flinched, much to his chagrin.

"I do not blame you; that was not why I spoke of it."

Erik sighed and rose. Perhaps it was foolish of him to choose to be so close to her, but in some corner of his mind he felt an incessant pull that drew him closer to her tree, and before she could protest he was settling beside her, mimicking her position against it.

"I know. But whether or not I agree with the practice, you see me as your bond-mate. That means that you would like for me to see to its care."

Her voice was quiet and nearly non-existent, and he was glad he moved closer so as to hear her mumbled reply. "Only if you wish to. You speak of burdens as though I would never feel similarly, but I assure you I do. I will take whatever part of being my mate you will allow."

She said this with such pure earnestness that it made his heart ache in strange and unknown places. She should have all of a man. She should have every bit of her pampered and adored by someone capable and trustworthy enough for her returned ardour.

And he knew with absolute conviction that man could never be him.

But instead of saying such things, reminding her of the louse that she had the misfortune of being bonded to, he rasped out, "What else do you remember?"

She turned, and instead of the both of them confessing and enquiring to the empty air before them, she twisted and adjusted until she could peer at him—and he was helpless to look away. "Humans. I remember finding them curious, and wanting to know them better. _Adar _and the elders warned me of it many times."

He had not expected that. "And what about humanity was so very curious? That it is evil and corrupted while your people are idyllic and..." _beautiful_.

Erik stopped the word before it could escape.

He could not quite interpret her expression. There was an intensity to her gaze that unsettled him and before he could move, even _think _of moving, her hands had found the way to his covered face as she knelt closer, her thumbs skimming over what little skin was exposed. "No. That you were different. That you could be so lost and confused when love and goodness were within your grasp, yet you were too blind to see it. And I found that very curious indeed."

Erik could not breathe, not when she was touching him and her eyes were soft and gentle even as her words conveyed such conviction. And he knew that she spoke of the abstract idea of mankind, but even he could not deny that she equally referred to him—that everything he could possibly have desired was at his fingertips—was _touching _him—yet he could not seize it, cling to it as the first truly good thing that had ever happened in his miserable existence.

Not yet.

But maybe...

Soon.

Her fingertips sent a pulse through his mind and heart that he had never experienced before. It was as if the bond she referred to was a tangible thing, a part of him that was tethered to her and flared with new life at the experience of contact, as small as it might be.

He wondered how it would feel should there ever be _more _contact.

Erik closed his eyes, willing away such thoughts as he fought to keep his breathing steady.

"Why do you fight me, Erik? I mean you no harm."

And for some inexplicable reason, he felt near tears. The old part of him, the one that had not experienced whatever incredible reaction he had to her—this creature—would have thought her a demon sent from the very depths of hell to torment him with her sweetness and promise of the love he could never know.

But something had shifted within him. And he knew that, however unbelievably, she cared for him.

It would be so easy, so deliciously easy to relent.

To pull her to him and to claim her lips and declare to the world that she was his wife, in every way that mattered.

But as her fingers delved gently, thoughtfully, under the seams of his mask, he froze.

And she must have sensed his withdrawal for she smiled at him sadly, and he desperately wished that he could silence his upbringing that screamed that all of this was a trick—one that he likely would not survive unscathed.

"I am sorry," he croaked, and he cursed himself for allowing his emotions to disrupt his composure.

She shook her head. "Do not be, you cannot help it. Someday you will grow to trust me, and I look forward to when that happens."

He was saved from having to respond by a dissatisfied Callum coming toward them and nudging Christine quite forcefully with his nose. She was nearly pushed over by his determination and she released a cry of alarm, but Erik caught her before anything serious could befall her.

Of course, at most she would have scraped her palms on the prickly needles that fell from the pines high above them—hardly some great injury. But he caught himself looking at her palms and his brow furrowed when he noticed the scabs that already marred the otherwise milky flesh.

"You fell?"

Christine was still eyeing Callum suspiciously, obviously waiting for him to harass her once more. "In the stream. The rocks were slippery."

He recalled how he had found her in the tavern, soaked to the bone, and evidently hurt.

He grasped her hand carefully with his, ignoring Callum's impatient neigh. He was a horse used to travel, and he had spent far too much time wandering and waiting since meeting Christine.

His thumb moved over the marks gently, and he was glad to see that no debris was visible that would impede the healing process.

Perhaps he should inquire as to how she fell in a stream, but he did not. It was either a sorry tale of her wandering in the woods alone as she searched for him and would illicit only more guilt, or one filled with embarrassment as she tripped over an errant rock as she knelt for water. The first would cause him only more guilt, and the second would bring her discomfort.

It was better not to even pose the question.

"Come, we shall see about finding you a bed."

She seemed almost reluctant to leave their little shelter of trees, and now that he understood a bit more of her rearing he could easily ascertain why. The forest was a comfort for her, familiar in its wild and unkempt state, even as it was lonesome now that she was disconnected from her people. The cities and villages they passed housed strangers, and incited a wholly different kind of loneliness.

He knew it all too well.

After quickly retrieving his sword and replacing his helm—although he retained the mask underneath knowing it would be removed again shortly— they continued down the road until they reached the tavern, smoke beckoning welcomingly from its chimney and bawdy laughter greeting them as soon as the heavy door was opened.

Erik sniffed at the lot of them, whiling away the day drinking and playing idiotic games instead of being productive. Did they not have mouths to feed at home?

The wench that had troubled him earlier sidled up presently, a bright yet surprised smile on her face. "Back so soon, m'laird! Not many can resist our ale or me fine sweeties!" She winked saucily and bent forward, revealing an ample bosom. Erik sighed, used to such treatment. They saw a fine and expensive suit of armour and thought to steal away more of his coin, either by a quick flash of feminine flesh or by _other _pursuits that generally required the use of an upstairs bedchamber.

Or a few propositions had suggested a stable, as if he would ever be tempted by such indecency.

But when the helm was removed and the mask revealed, all such beguiling ceased, and wary politeness took its place. A few brave girls would still make an attempt, but always with a barely disguised look of fear and curiosity in their eyes that was tremendously off-putting.

"We require lodging and a hot meal, should you have it."

Her gaze settled on Christine and Erik suppressed the urge to step in front of her, blocking her from view. She had survived with him, and would certainly continue to do so with a harpy sending her malevolent glares. "Of course, m'laird. Will you be requiring the entire night or merely an hour?"

Before Erik could open his mouth to hiss his outrage, Christine clutched at his arm so she could whisper in his ear as best she could. "Erik, I do not know of your people, but we rest for almost as long as the moon is awake. Is that more than an hour?"

She was so innocent, so _dreadfully _innocent, and he did not approve of this trollop impugning Christine's character. "My _wife _and I shall require beds for the night, although if you do not cease with your tawdry behaviour I shall be forced to seek accommodation elsewhere."

He would have done so already except Callum was currently being stabled, and he tended to complain should his saddle be replaced so soon after his removal.

And although Erik was an utter failure as a bond-mate, he would not cause his only friend distress if he could avoid it.

She sniffed and her chin rose in the air, but thankfully she kept from making any further lewd comments about either Christine or himself.

He would not be responsible for his actions if she had continued, but he did so hate the thought of injuring a woman in front of Christine. He had killed a few in his time, but as a general rule he did not strike them—and he certainly did not want the little nymph to presume he would treat her similarly.

Erik should not think of her as such, he knew, not until he could decide if he believed her tale or not. But it seemed to suit her, so perhaps it was not so very horrid of him.

Mabel waved towards the empty tables and Erik brought them to the one in the furthest corner. He kept his back to the wall, the better to keep vigilant in case any showed signs of ill-intent. The few men scattered about seemed to be engaged in their stories and ale, although each in turn cast appreciative looks at Christine. He quelled them all with an answering glare of his own, and they returned to their mugs with sheepish nods.

He supposed if he was to remain in her company for long, he would need to become accustomed to the stares centring on Christine's beauty, and no longer the peculiarity of his appearance.

Mabel was not the one to bring out their meal, instead a man of middling years, large and burly brought out two bowls of steaming stew, a plate strewn with hunks of bread, and two cups of ale—long experience making it all possible to carry in one armload.

"Ah, lass! Only ye and yer pretty face could put Mabel in such a dither." Christine smiled at him shyly and Erik was force to bite his tongue lest he make yet another comment about her effect on men.

But she had asked him to cease with such statements, and he would try his best to oblige—as long as the man left quickly.

Erik had removed his helm, it being impractical to eat or drink with it on. None had paid much attention to it, but the tavern-keep started at it briefly when he managed to tear his eyes away from Christine long enough to do so. "Pardon, m'laird. I'll be leavin' you and the lady to eat yer fill. Please don't be takin' offence to our Mabel—she's used to bein' the prettiest thing in these parts." He gave a funny sort of bow that Erik dismissed with a wave of his hand, more interested in his absence than in discussing the wench.

He dug into the hearty stew with a vengeance, the flavour better than he had expected. The bread was fresh and warm, and he wondered if the owner had enlarged the portions to also excuse Mabel's unsolicited actions.

"Please do not be angry."

He glanced up at Christine, only to see her toying with chunks of potato in the stew with her spoon instead of eating it. Her eyes were careful as she considered him, and he dropped his own spoon with a gentle splash_. _"Why would I be angry?"

She nibbled at her lip, and this time he was close enough to pull it free, but he was angry—or at least terribly annoyed, and he did not wish to frighten her.

"You do not like it when men are kind to me. You think it means that I shall want them more than I desire you."

He grimaced, her assessment far too true for comfort. But as the words fell from her lips he realised their inanity, and that him making her feel dreadful for a man giving her a smile and help when she needed it would only lead to madness and abuses.

And he did not want that for himself, and especially not for her.

"It angers me to see that other men can be so easy with you. It angers me that you should have needed to seek their help when I should have provided it." He sighed, distracting himself by tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it into the dark broth. "That does not mean I am angry at you, or that you should pay me any mind. I am an angry lot, and you will do yourself harm trying to circumvent each of my episodes."

He realised how it sounded as soon as her eyes widened and she leaned back in her chair. "_I _will not do you harm, you foolish girl. But you will be so busy trying to appease me that you will forget to take care of yourself. You see to you and I will see to me."

She watched him for far too long so he tapped the bowl in front of her. "Eat. I will not have you wasting away."

Christine obliged, but with not great enthusiasm. She seemed to like the bits of potato well enough, but when a chunk of meat met her spoon she stared at it in consternation. "What is it?"

Erik shrugged. "Some kind of meat." He poked at a piece in his own bowl thoughtfully. "Lamb most likely."

She blanched, pushing away the bowl. "Is a lamb an animal?"

"Lamb is _food. _And it gives strength. So eat."

He should have been more understanding with her. It stood to reason that a gentle soul such as she would find it difficult to eat meat, especially if she was not used to it. But food was oftentimes a luxury for these people, and game could be scarce in the forests. Sheep were lucrative not only for their wool, but also as a food source.

Erik took another bite.

Christine rose swiftly from her chair. "I... I am afraid I cannot... _will _not eat that, even if you require it of me."

His eyes darkened. He almost forced her to retreat. He nearly hissed and bullied until she ate what he provided, damning her girlish fancies about what made for a _nice _meal.

But he stopped himself.

Acting in such a way would only cause her to hate him. And while he might be wholly deserving of her abhorrence, he did not wish to actively seek it.

So instead he took a deep breath and released it in a longsuffering sigh. "Sit down, Christine. You do not have to eat the stew. But you must eat something so have the bread."

She looked at him suspiciously but finally sat, tearing at the bread and chewing methodically.

It made him almost, _almost _go find that strumpet Mabel and ask for another honey-cake.

"After I eat, shall you take me to bed?"

Erik choked on his ale, wanting nothing more than to do just that.

* * *

Sooo... Who wants him to take her to bed?! She's practically asking for it! She also might not be pleased with his decision on separate rooms... good luck with that, Erik! Christine has ways of convincing you...

Please take the time to review! 'Tis much appreciated!


	13. Chapter 13

Today was a lovely day! Lots of good food, shopping, and excellent company. (Remind me why breaks between terms have to come to an end... Or don't actually. I don't wish to know until Monday when my last eight weeks of university begins.) And to top it all off, so many reviews! That is always a wonderful treat.

Now, I believe someone mentioned a bed at the end of last chapter... let's see what comes of that, shall we?

Onward!

* * *

XIII

Christine was not at all certain why her question had caused Erik to react so violently. He coughed, he spluttered, and she worried for his health and safety but he waved her away firmly when she rose and tried to offer him whatever assistance she could.

"Are you tired?" He finally managed to croak out.

"A bit. My shoulder aches and so does my..." she blushed, not knowing if it was proper to mention how her lower extremities also hurt from being atop Callum. Erik was the one to keep her from toppling over, but that did not keep her from growing saddle-sore.

He looked over her speculatively and it did nothing to quiet her embarrassment. "You are unused to riding, are you not?"

She nodded. "Callum is the first horse I have ever been upon."

Erik smirked. "I can well remember how uncomfortable I was the first time I began to ride. Finish your bread and you may retire."

Christine relented, the warm bread settling well in her stomach, yet she wondered if it would be possible to acquire some more sweeties. Not from the horrid woman who looked at Erik so lustfully, but perhaps from the kind man who had helped her before.

But if those were _Mabel's _honey-cakes...

Perhaps she did not want them after all.

She tried not to think about what Erik was eating so vigorously. She understood in a way, she truly did. So many people had wandered into the forest looking desperately for food—men, women, and children alike. Some were so frail their bones protruded harshly through pallid skin, so obviously in need of nourishment.

She had never worried of such things before. The roots of her tree ran deeply and water and minerals abounded, providing plenty for her to survive.

But when she tried to eat the _meat _as Erik had beseeched her, all she could think of was her little woodland friends, dead and gone as she buried her teeth in their flesh.

She shuddered, pushing away even the remnants of the bread.

Erik's eyes narrowed but he did not press her further, not on that account. "Drink, my lady, it will help you sleep."

Christine's nose crinkled. "It is strange, and it burns my tongue. Do they not have water?"

"I would not be drinking water from an establishment like this—would give you dysentery more likely than not. If you do not want it then pull out the horn I left you."

He reached across the table and pulled her cup to himself, drinking deeply. Belatedly she realised he had finished his own.

"You do not care for sweeties, you approve of meat, and you find foamy drinks pleasant. Are we to have nothing in common?" She did not mean to sound quite so morose, but it was becoming very evident that neither of them agreed on much.

Erik smirked at her in bemusement. "There is more to a person than their taste in foodstuffs, Christine."

She sighed, supposing it was true yet finding it suddenly difficult to keep from being discouraged—not when she knew so little else about him.

He eyed her for a moment longer before releasing a sigh of his own, this one of resignation. "What do you want to know?"

Christine quickly brightened. "Have you always been a m'laird?"

Erik barked out a laugh. "Not a _m'laird, _little nymph. A lord. Or I suppose a laird if you are from these parts."

Her heart swelled and she could not help but smile genuinely when he called her _little nymph._ It was the first time it was infused with such warmth and it made her feel...

Cherished.

Like he knew what she truly was and cared for her in any case.

But then she realised she had made a mistake yet again and busied herself with finding his water horn tucked away in one of the vast pockets of his cloak.

"Do not be embarrassed, I meant nothing by it. If you know nothing of titles I can see why you would be so confused."

Her head tilted. "Titles? Like elders and ancients?"

"I suppose so. Although I do not know how one comes to hold such a position for your people. In ours it is through bloodline." His tone had grown spiteful and she wondered if she had somehow asked something inappropriate.

"You do not approve of..."

He shook his head. "It is no matter. I have indeed always been a lord in way of birthright, though I doubt there are any who would suggest I have any legal claim to the title. Not anymore."

She knew she should not press. But this was the most forthcoming he had been aside from his story of Callum, and she found that now that he had begun she thirsted after knowledge of him—any that he saw fit to share.

"Why?"

He took a long drink of her ale, not ceasing until that too had been emptied. "Because my face happened, that is why." He spat the words bitterly, and the simmering rage was clear in his expression.

"I am sorry." Not for asking—she could not be sorry for that. But she was sorry he had suffered so. She wished she could remember more of what he looked like, as perhaps that could help her comfort him. Perhaps she could tell if it was a natural disfigurement, or if something terrible had befallen him that led to his continued shame.

But no matter how she tried his features were blurred, and only her impression of them remained, and she was very sorry indeed that anything at all had harmed him.

He rose swiftly. "It is no matter, you had no part in it. Have you need of the privy?"

She looked up at him blankly. "No?"

His lips pursed as if judging her response. "Do you need to... relieve yourself?"

_Oh._

She remembered how the sisterlings had laughed and giggled as the newly charged Christine blushed and ran from a man who was evidently leaking against the side of a tree. She had thought it a horribly embarrassing and curious feature of mankind, and she was terribly grateful that her people only leaked _tears_—certainly nothing else from any other part.

"No, no thank you."

He seemed surprised but took her at her word.

"Do not leave this spot. And..." He cleared his throat, discomfited. "Try not to make any new _friends _while I am gone."

She should most likely be offended that he felt the need to leave such a warning before heading out the door, but she was too preoccupied with his previous query. Was she supposed to need to? She had eaten and drank water as he did, and but she was a nymph—was she not? It was all very confusing, but she did not feel any pressing need to _relieve _herself as he had suggested, so she decided not to worry overly much about it.

She had already been doing far too much wrong to worry about any new attribute.

Christine had not been lying when she said her shoulder ached. When Callum had nudged her it had been a blow to her still mending joint, and the sharp pain of it had left her breathless. But she did not wish to complain and he did not do it again so she supposed she harboured no resentment toward the beast.

After all, he was performing the tremendous favour of bearing her weight as well as his master's, and she would gladly take a blow to her shoulder over continuing to walk on the rocky road that hurt the delicate soles of her feet.

Erik returned shortly, and she was glad not to have been forced to be rude had anyone approached her in his absence.

"Shall we go up?"

Christine nodded, the weariness of travel and continued heartache making her anxious for rest. She followed meekly behind up to a large configuration of steps made from wooden planks, and Mabel bustled over hurriedly before they had ascended too far. She appeared ready to continue her inappropriate remarks and insinuations from earlier, but one glance at Erik's mask made her recoil. "Pardon, m'laird, I was only wonderin' if ye or yer... lady, would be likin' a bath this evenin'. Only a copper more."

Erik stiffened. "Not tonight."

He took Christine's arm and ushered her forward, and she wondered if he found Mabel as disagreeable as she.

They continued on, Christine peering down at her feet in bemusement. "I should have liked to have washed them."

Erik stopped and stared down at her feet. She had pulled up her skirt slightly to ascend the steps, and she saw his eyes widen in surprise. "What happened to them?"

They were generally kept covered by her the length of her gown, and he would have had little cause to have noticed them before.

"The road is very cruel. There are many twigs and stones that liked to hide until I stepped upon them." She wiggled her toes, not liking the way the dirt and yes, bits of blood, came to her attention.

"You, wench!" Erik called.

At first Christine thought he was referring to her and she did not care for the name nearly as well as when he called her _little nymph_—she shivered slightly at the memory—but Mabel came scurrying back from the kitchens.

"Bring a basin of hot water to the lady's room. One large enough for her feet."

Mabel quirked an eyebrow, evidently his mask not fully quelling her usual tawdry manner of speech. "Does the lady have terribly large feet?"

Erik growled and she realised her error for she bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

"The wretch," he mumbled under his breath, taking Christine's arm and guiding her to a room.

It was different than she had expected, although she had not truly known what to picture when he described a bed. For her a bed was made of moss, or in springtime she and the sisterlings liked to lie among the wildflowers and rest as streams of sunlight warmed them.

The room was cold, and there was a relatively large structure in the middle that she walked to curiously. The posts were made of wood, and attempts had been made at carvings, but to Christine they looked rough and ill-practiced. "Is this the bed?"

Erik strode over to a stone hole in the wall, placing logs within it quite efficiently. Not for the first time she was grateful that he was so knowledgeable in worldly matters. A fire soon lit the room and made it feel much more inviting, but perhaps that was simply because of the way the flames provided a more comforting light than from any true warmth. "Aye, that is a bed. Soon that trollop should be here with the basin and we shall see about your feet and you can climb into it."

There was something amiss about his demeanour. He kept glancing at the door, and while he had risen from his position before the fire, he appeared as though he was readying himself to depart from her.

She swallowed. "You are not joining me?"

He shook his head. "I shall procure a room down the hall, possibly even next door. You shall be safe, little nymph, so fear not."

It was reasonable. There was no need for him to take his rest in the same bed as she, and she knew in that place of her heart that still ached fiercely whenever he reminded her of it, he did not see her as his wife.

But she could not help but feel the rejection, the bitter sting that she would rather continue riding through the entirety of the night if it meant being near him. "Please, _please _do not. Just stay," she bowed her head, "with me."

All these things were too new, too frightening in their unfamiliarity, and he was the only thing that kept her tethered to this strange, unknown world.

She needed him.

Yet she readied herself for his dismissal.

He was silent for a long while, yet she made no move to peek at him. It was better this way, if he just left without providing excuses, or reminding her that he did not care for her as she dreamt he would.

Erik sighed, and she heard his footsteps, but to her astonishment they came nearer instead of announcing his departure into the hall. He was quite close to her and she could not help but glance up at him. His expression was shuttered and she found herself getting lost in his eyes, a burnt umber in the glow of the fire.

"What do you think will happen if I join you in that bed?"

He was evidently waiting for something, for some reaction from her that would absolve him from any guilt in abandoning her in this room alone.

But he would not find it in her.

She was not so insensible to his disinterest in her as to suggest that they mate—that they seal the bond truly. She would not suggest such a thing until he cared for her.

"We will rest, as you said. But I will not be alone in a strange place with drunken men downstairs that could stumble in here unaware that the room is occupied."

She had not truly considered that before and was not very afraid of the notion. She had seen drunken men before and it made them bumbling and slow—she could easily outrun them if necessary. And perhaps she should feel guilty for exaggerating her fears to her bond-mate, but if it made him _stay..._

Erik stiffened.

"They would not dare. Not when you clearly belong with me."

She looked up at him sharply, and he already looked annoyed at his choice of words. "As in, you are my companion. They would not be so foolhardy as to try to take advantage of you while I am near."

Christine nibbled her lip, already sensing his withdrawal.

"What do _you_ think will happen if you join me in the bed?" She needed to know, needed to understand what frightened him—or angered him—enough to seek a room of his own. She readied herself to hear that he was desperate for respite from her company, but the censure never came.

A tap at the door and a muffled, "M'laird?" had Erik stalking away from her, and she tried to soothe the hurt at the obvious relief in his expression by reminding herself that he had called for the basin specifically to care for _her._

He opened it to a disgruntled Mabel who tried to balance a pitcher and large bowl with a few ragged cloths peeking out from its rim on her hip so that a free hand could declare her presence. "As ye requested."

Erik grunted and ushered her in. He approached Christine again and she drew in a ragged breath when his hand extended, skimming down her side. She would not have minded the touch in private, but with a woman in the room...

But he was pulling away the cloak and fishing through a pocket until a small pouch was revealed. He took out a copper coloured circle of metal and handed it to Mabel—_without _coming into contact with her skin, Christine was satisfied to notice. "That will be all."

She gave one last scowl before bobbing a curtsy and vacating the room.

Christine was relatively certain she had never been so glad of someone's departure in all her life.

"She admires you. Do women not notice when a man is already mated?"

Erik shook his head. "She admires the idea of a few extra coins and the satisfaction of bedding a knight, not looking for a husband. Especially not one like me."

He proceeded to put the bowl beside the edge of the low bed, pouring the evidently warm water into it. "Come. Place your feet here. The heat should do them good."

If Christine had thought cold water was a wonderful thing, it was nothing in comparison to the comfort of a hot soak. At first she cried out as the warmth crept into every slice and bit of abused flesh it could find, and her toes brutally protested the change in temperature. She very nearly thought it pain and jerked her feet away, but Erik laid a hand softly on her knee before she could do so. "Give yourself a moment to adjust. It will feel quite pleasant soon."

True to his word, soon the stinging abated and she sighed as she wiggled her toes in the soothing water. "Is this a bath?"

Erik chuckled, and she caught herself watching him in fascination as he went about removing his armour, piece by piece. It seemed a tedious business and Christine was grateful for the delicate silks that fashioned her attire. They were soft and comfortable, and she promised herself she would see about mending the damage to the shoulder before they left the tavern for good.

It would be a waste of Harold's thread if she did not, and she did so want to keep herself tidy.

"Part of one, little nymph. Sometimes the water goes to your waist, and other, more luxurious places have large tubs that you could drown in."

Christine hummed, trying to imagine such a thing. Would her entire body tingle as urgently against the heat before succumbing to an agreeable lethargy? She wondered if Erik could be persuaded to make a bath their next destination.

Erik finished removing the last of his armour, piling it all neatly in a bundle beside the door. His sword, she noticed, did not remain with the rest of his weaponry, but instead found its home on the small, rickety table that held a strange tapered device, a tiny flame perched upon its end. "You shall stay then? Truly? Even if you are afraid of what shall happen in the bed?"

His eyes flew to hers, and she decided his scowl was not nearly as intimidating as she once believed. "Do not tease me, _my lady. _You seem to lack an understanding of what happens when a man and woman share a bed, otherwise you would not ask it of me."

She blushed, knowing perfectly well of what he suggested. "I believe you are an honourable man, and you would not behave thusly with a female unless you intended to recognise her as your mate—your _wife_." She allowed her feet to splash in the water, a welcome distraction from what concession she had to make next. "You are not ready for that female to be me, no matter how I might wish differently. But I ask you try, for my sake, to keep me company." Christine peered up at him, ready to release him from her entreaty should he show some sign of true dismay. "Is that really so cruel?"

He drew a shuddering breath and his hands tugged at his hair. "You do not mean it to be, but you do not—_cannot—_know..."

He sighed, and sank down upon the bed beside her, although not close enough to touch. "Do your people know nothing of temptation? To know that your deepest desires could only bring heartache and harm, so you struggle and denounce them with all of your being?"

His voice held such pain that tears came unbidden to her eyes. "We do not deny ourselves the comfort of our mates—not when they are a part of us. We share a soul now, Erik. That is what it means to be bonded. Surely you can feel it."

She hoped he felt it.

"And I do not mean to tempt you to act against your will. I only mean to offer you what I can, for you to know that I am willing to be your mate—your wife—when you are ready."

Erik shook his head, and she could not tell if it was in disbelief or because he simply could not understand.

But before she could press, to ensure that he understood her clearly, he sunk to the floor and knelt before her.

She did not expect him to take the cloth from beside the basin and dip it into the water.

She did not expect him to gently take her ankle in his hand and bathe one foot and then the other, softly running the saturated cloth across the sensitive sole and between each toe until all that remained were the reddened evidences of her long, unprotected walks.

And she did not expect his words.

"Then you must allow me to show you that I could make a proper husband—that you do not offer yourself to a brute and a monster, incapable of caring for you the way you deserve."

He took the last of the cloths, this one dry and rougher than she expected, but his touches were tender as he dried both her feet and bid her to unbind the cloak and lie down. He took away the water and finally removed his boots, coming to the side of the bed nearest the door. "We climb under the covers, Christine. That is how one sleeps in a bed."

His voice seemed hoarse, and she took his hand softly in hers, only to find it trembled slightly. "We can show each other, Erik. Every day, for as long as it takes—that we can be good, kind, and loving mates."

And when they both lay side by side in the unfamiliar bed, only the barest of knuckles touching beneath the coverings, Christine found that maybe, just maybe, she could begin to feel at home once more.

As long as Erik was beside her.

* * *

Sooo... no consummating yet! Goodness, they haven't even kissed yet! And besides, Erik is only going to take a wife to bed and he hasn't admitted that yet. Well, not _really _(saying it to ward off other menfolk doesn't count... okay, it counts a little!). But who liked their little impromptu foot bath? And that they shared a room at all? Still think they're making progress?


	14. Chapter 14

This is my last update before beginning my final term at university. Frightening yet exciting at the same moment! And just to be clear, that doesn't mean I'm... stopping my updates. It just means that your reviews are what will keep me working on this story over the next eight weeks when essays and exams threaten to drown me and I wonder why in the world a degree is important when writing anything non-research related is sooo much more satisfying and... yes.

Ahem.

I'll just let you read now. Onward!

* * *

XIV

Two men conversed in low tones, though he did not recognise either of them. A lofty maple stood above them, and the remains of a smaller, leafless tree was beside it, and the first man, taller and more grieved in appearance than the other laid his hand upon the ashen bark as he bowed his head. "It has not perished, not completely. Perhaps there is hope."

The second man sighed. "She might yet live, but she may not return. You know this."

The taller of the two stiffened. "Forgive me, but I find it a comfort that my nymphling might live. Even if you shall not allow her to come back to me."

"It is for the safety of our people. She is one of them now."

He shook his head in denial. "Not while her tree lives."

Erik awoke slowly, the dream strange yet not as unsettling as many he had experienced. Instead he found the bed, although not as fine as the feather bed he had in his cottage far from here, comfortable enough and very warm. He clutched further to the source, but stiffened when that warmth released a sleepy little sigh and nuzzled back against him.

His mind was befuddled and belatedly he realised he should have pulled away—disengaged himself from the tangle of arms and legs and hair, long luscious hair that he never wished to leave, that held him captive.

She was lying on his arm, and he cursed the numbness he felt. It was his sword arm, and he scowled down at her sleeping form. If any had intruded during the night he would have been slow and fumbled as he tried to protect himself—protect _her_—against whatever miscreant dared encroach.

But at the small contented smile on her face his own features softened, and he could not help but stare in wonder that a lady such as her could find peace within his arms.

Even if it did subject one of said arms to complete uselessness.

He thought back on the dream. He was never one to give much credence to meaning, even as many of his own were bits of memory that merged into one steady stream of misery and hatred. But this had been different. In some small way they seemed similar to the creature in his arms, ethereal and lithe, with garments cut of the same silks that were impossible to purchase in any of the lands known to his kind.

Could they have been her kin?

He shook his head bemusedly. So much talk of souls bonding and obscure languages had obviously encouraged his mind into a fanciful imagining that had no place in reality.

Christine's brow furrowed and a brief flicker of pain shadowed her features, and he noticed with a grimace that she was lying on her injured shoulder—something that would most assuredly cause discomfort and possibly further damage if she was not careful.

Erik needed to be far away from her when she awoke, not wanting her to think he had taken advantage of her as they slept.

He chastised himself thoroughly.

It had been at _her _insistence that he was in the bed at all. He had tried to keep an acceptable distance—as little as it might be when they were travelling companions—but she had _pleaded_, and he was helpless to do anything but relent. Not when he should be the one to beg of her for time and concern, not the other way round.

With his lone free arm that was embarrassingly wrapped about her middle he tried to lift her enough to slip free, but the action must have jostled her shoulder more than she could bear in sleep for she awoke with a hiss of pain.

And he hated it.

He hated that he wished to wake her with a kiss, gently and sweetly, until her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him and smiled.

But instead she tried to quiet her distressed breathing, evidently hoping that he slept on.

"No need for quiet, little nymph, I am already awake."

She rubbed at her shoulder waiting for the ache to abate, but already a blush stained her pale cheeks. "I am sorry for our position. I can assure you, I did not cause it intentionally."

Erik scoffed, finally liberating his feeling-less arm and grunting in discomfort as the blood began to flow anew. He bent his fingers to aid the action, even as he wished to sulk away for being in pain at all.

But if numb fingers and the sharp pinpricks of an awakening limb were the only price he paid for the joy of sleeping beside this perfectly willing angel, he would gladly give it tenfold.

And he wondered if such selfish thoughts were truly so terrible, not when she made it so perfectly plain that she desired being with him.

He groaned and rolled over, climbing from the bed as quickly as possible, needing the distance from her.

"Erik? Are you terribly displeased with me? I promise that I did not intend for anything to happen. Have I spoiled your virtue?"

He gaped at her. "What on earth are you speaking of?"

She sighed, burrowing back into the blankets even as she peeped out at him. How could one speaking of taking someone's _virtue _look so innocent at the same moment? "You said that this was not proper for ones who were not married. Perhaps you do not think you have a wife yet but I was worried you thought I had somehow tainted you... that we had done something wrong."

Christine plucked at an errant string coming loose from the seam. "It is not as though you would have a wife that was not me..."

She looked at him then, long and pleadingly, as if the thought of him taking another as a wife was actually painful to her.

His mouth was dry as he swallowed, trying to form the words. "I have told you that only a fool would seek another when you are near. And do you not remember what I said last night? I shall try... _am _trying to show you that I can be a proper husband. You have tainted nothing, least of all me."

"Does that mean you are not upset about holding me as we slept? That you found it as pleasant as I? For I am lonesome now..."

She could not be in earnest.

But one glance at her eyes showed that she was indeed sincere and it baffled him.

"I am... unaccustomed to lounging about after waking. I have... personal matters to see to that make it necessary to rise relatively quickly."

He still wondered why she had not yet demanded the need for the privy. Even if he had roomed alone he would not have made use of the chamber pot, finding the idea of some unsuspecting maid being force to clean it after him troubling in the extreme. So even if the temperatures were less than hospitable and he required use of the facilities he would brave the cold.

But Christine only looked at him in confusion, and he had made no further effort to explain his habits to her. If she should need to relieve herself in future she would have to be the one to communicate it to him, for he would cease to enquire.

It was another strange quality of hers that begged continued thought, but for now he pulled on his boots and fastened his cloak about his shoulders, certain that the cool morning air would require it. He checked the pocket and found the coil of rope tucked safely within, and decided he could forego taking his sword. It was better for her to have it in any case—even for unpractised hands a broadsword levied against a villain would do more to intimidate than a mere bit of rope.

"Remain here, I shall return shortly. If any should enter go to the window and call out; I will hear you."

She looked wary but did not try to stop him from leaving. He told himself all would be well. The tavern was empty, and only the occasional snore from another occupant floated through the hall as he stole down the stairs, but that did little to quiet his nerves.

It was a curious thing, this urge to defend and protect, even against non-existent dangers. It caused his pace to quicken and he could not deny an urgent tug at his mind that it was important he return to her.

As he expected, the morning was crisp and a fine mist covered the ground in an eerie haze. After visiting the privy Erik hesitated, torn between his desire to return to Christine and his inclination to confirm that Callum was seen to properly. Normally he would have done so the night before, to ensure that he was fed and watered, and that his hooves were free from any debris that could cause discomfort or injury.

He smiled wryly as he remembered how he had done much the same for Christine only the evening before. Perhaps if he thought of her as a horse, a _friend, _instead of a potential wife it would be easier for him.

Taking a deep breath he tried to focus on the small part of him that felt tethered to the room above, wondering if this intuition stemmed from any true danger toward her or merely the perfectly natural desire to be near her—to enjoy her form and her smiles, which she offered so readily whenever he was not too gruff or surly.

He rather thought the latter, so he stepped into the stables, the soft breath of the sleeping stable boy barely audible as it drifted from the loft above.

Callum's head appeared over one of the stall doors, and Erik rubbed his nose fondly with his uncovered palm. "You know it is too early for your breakfast, you plump beast. I merely wanted to see that you were well."

The horse released a large huff of annoyance at being woken without promise of a treat, and Erik patted his neck once more in apology. "We shall leave soon enough, and I am certain if you are obstinate enough you can ply far too many apple cores from that foolish boy charged with watching you."

Too long he had lingered but already the unsullied air cleared away the equal measures of desire and embarrassment he had experienced, and he felt somehow lighter as he hurried back to his temporary chamber.

Christine was waiting for him when he returned. She was waiting for him out of her bundle of blankets, staring at the door anxiously when he appeared.

"You were gone a very long time."

He grunted. A part of him bristled at being accountable to another, used to doing what he pleased simply because it pleased him to do it. But as he saw her worry, he softened, knowing that without his protection she was vulnerable to all sorts of atrocities—even in what should have been the safety of a bedchamber.

"My apologies. Callum required my attention." Not true in the strictest sense, but it evidently appeased her for she pressed no more about the matter, though his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he watched her nibble on her lower lip, her gaze settled in her lap.

"Erik..."

He half waited for her to finally ask him the way to the privy, but the request never came.

"I do not wish for you to be uncomfortable, but to mend my dress I shall need to remove it. It is unacceptable for you to see a female's form if you are unmarried, yes?"

He knew that she said it for his benefit—that to her they were truly one and she bore his reticence with as much patience as she could. But unbidden came the image of her nude form reclined upon the bedclothes, smiling as he entered the room as she darned the hole in the shoulder of her garment.

And he wanted it.

He wanted the simple domesticity, the fondness and familiarity that came from married life—or at least, what he thought must come from such relations.

First he had to show her. He wanted her happiness, but he would not allow her to waste herself upon a man that did not appreciate her. As Harold had reminded him, she was a gift—one he had neglected.

But no more.

He cleared his throat. "I shall mend it for you. But first, we tend to our mouths."

She stared at him, aghast. "Do what?"

Erik grimaced, realising that he should have been clearer as visions of them _kissing _flooded his mind, but he pushed them away furiously. He could not often afford a bath, but if there was one thing he could not abide it was the taste of his mouth in the morning, and surely hers would be feeling similarly.

He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a jar, gesturing for her to join him by the washstand. He poured a generous amount of water into the waiting basin before showing her how to chew and rinse the minty poultice that left his mouth feeling, and imperatively, _tasting _all the more pleasant.

She seemed unsure about the process and he wondered if this was yet another oddity about her that she did not suffer the same afflictions as he. Her smile was impeccable, so whatever her usual habit would not leave her with the tooth-rot that afflicted so much of the population.

Christine breathed out heavily and sniffed the air, and he could not help but watch her in amusement as she caught whiff of the crisp mint and smiled in satisfaction.

"Now, shall we see about your garment?"

She nodded and appeared somewhat shy as she sat down upon the bed. "Have you a pine needle? I considered going to look for one but I thought you would be angry."

Erik found the small pouch that held his own mending supplies. Perhaps some had daughters and wives to tend to such matters, but he had only his own two hands. And he did so dislike holes in his tunics and breeches.

"You were correct. And besides, I highly doubt a bit of dried shrubbery could be as effective as this."

He revealed his own iron needle, smooth and sharp and well cared for. He took a bit of bee's wax and plied the point, wanting to do his best at tending to her gown.

It was his fault it was damaged, and just as he looked after her wound, he would do his best to repair any remembrance of the unfortunate episode.

"Now, where is your thread?"

She gestured to one of the hidden pockets of his cloak, and before long he had snipped and readied the needle.

Christine had already unwound the length of tunic that serviced as a bandage and as soon as he touched the fabric of her dress it was obvious even the most skilled of tailors would fail to keep the original integrity of the material. The colour of the thread was excellent, the same port wine that made her skin appear so pale and luminescent...

But it was made of wool and not the delicate strands that seemed to have been wrought from fairies instead of anything possibly human.

He shook his head. Tales of nymphs and wishes had evidently addled his brain. He was not even yet certain if _she _was to be believed, let alone introduce all manner of fantastical beings into possible existence.

He eyed the holes critically. The arrow head, while narrow, had caused an impressive gash to form, made worse by his attempt at bandaging. Too frightened had he been to ask her to remove the gown so he had tucked compresses beneath her sleeve against the injured flesh, only to then dress the wound and hold it fast from the exterior.

But to mend it properly he should do so from the inside, and he swallowed thickly as he tested the idea against his resolve to leave her untouched until he could be sure, absolutely _certain, _that she submitted to the idea of him as her mate, her husband, because she cared for himand not simply his title as such.

If it became too much he would simply flee the room under the pretence of seeing to their morning meal. He nodded to himself, satisfied that even should he fail to keep to his task, he had a sufficient excuse.

"I shall have to partially remove your gown."

She smiled at him softly. "I supposed you would, but I thought it better to allow you to come to that conclusion on your own. Would you like to unlace it, or should I?"

"I will," he gasped out, then grew embarrassed at his enthusiastic agreement. She glanced at him knowingly, and he was quick to supply a genuine reason. "It would hurt your shoulder to bend so, and I will not have you straining your injury when I can prevent it."

She hummed but turned slightly so that her back and the fragile laces that held the even more fragile gown closed about her were exposed to his view.

Erik had always possessed nimble fingers. Long and lean, there was no fine task that was beyond his capability. That particular feature was especially useful when plucking away at the strings of his lyre, and he was able to coax many songs and melodies from the instrument.

But with this he fumbled.

He picked at the knot and silently cursed his incompetence when it refused to yield, and for a brief and terrible moment he considered taking out the knife tucked in his boot and slicing the dreadful apparatus from bottom to top.

Yet to do so would leave her unbearably exposed, with nothing but his own torn tunic for a covering, and he would not impose upon her modesty in such a way.

And it would make him seem a brute, incapable of the delicate action required.

So he took a steadying breath and was greatly relieved when the impudent little knot untangled, only to then lose all of his senses as each bit of angel-white, unmarked skin was revealed.

Except for where it was not.

Except for when he pulled away the last compress and saw the red and angry mark that _he _had placed there.

And perhaps some small, possessive side of him liked the notion that even if she could find a way to be free of him, there was something real and tangible that would remind her of him. But the rest mourned for what would never be as pristine as before she knew him. It would heal, of that he would ensure, but there would always be a scar because of his mistake.

She held the gown close to her chest even as he eased her arm through the sleeve.

"Do you cover your breasts for your sake or for mine?" He said the words before he could consider how wholly inappropriate it was to enquire.

Christine stared at him for a long moment, judging him as surely as he was judging how best to approach mending the torn material.

And to his complete and utter surprise she let the bodice drop, and the silk pooled at her waist. "For yours. I have no shame about being with my mate, but you are not ready to consider me as such. I am trying to be understanding." He tried to grimace at the prim way she spoke to him, but all he could focus on were her newly exposed breasts, and any thought fled his mind.

His fingers trembled and he clutched them into fists to keep from touching.

And he realised how improper he was being and he tried to avert his eyes, to keep to his task, but he failed miserably until she pulled up her gown once more, leaving only her shoulder and slivers of back exposed. "It pleases me that you think me desirable. But I do not think we should _be _together until you are ready to take me as a mate in your heart."

The whole situation was ludicrous. She was so clearly ready to give herself to him, wholly and completely, if only he would surrender to her charms, her delightful innocence, and the tenuous bits of love that she extended to him.

His head hung in shame, at last beginning to darn the ragged edges of her sleeve.

"I must return to the kingdom that sent me here for final payment. Then we may go wherever you please."

He sewed quietly, Christine content to watch his work, thought it made him feel all the more inadequate as his fingers wavered and hesitated. Why had he not allowed her to do it herself? He could have waited outside while she worked if her state of undress had been too much for him.

Erik moved to the second split, this one larger than the first. The water that had drenched her did much to remove evidence of her strange blood, and he was pleased with how it came together.

"You care for me. That is why you feel you must prove yourself a capable mate. If you felt nothing it would not matter to you if I did not care for you either."

Erik made no reply.

"That is all right. I would like you to care for me, and perhaps you could even come to... love me, with enough time." She sighed. "I should like that very much."

"Coming to love you would be no great difficulty, little nymph," he murmured lowly.

She raised a tentative hand, the other still carefully concealing her tantalising flesh. "And I am coming to realise that loving you shall be no great difficulty either. You must simply allow yourself to believe that."

* * *

Sooo... Sommmeebody got to see a half-naked Christine! And I think it was Erik. And I think he liked it...

Very large changes coming up next chapter. Like... very... very... large changes... that I'm actually anticipating will make me lose a few of you... But enough of future! How do you think Erik's doing at showing his good-husbanding qualities? Is he a keeper?


	15. Chapter 15

Iii forgot to post! Last term brain has officially taken over! Like I said, this chapter is a turning point in the story... in more ways than one. I actually consider this the end of "Part One" so... yeah. We'll see how it goes.

Onward!

* * *

XV

Travelling was not what Christine expected.

She was more sore than she had ever thought possible, even though she relied mostly on Erik to keep her on Callum instead of utilizing her muscles as he seemed to do. He promised her more than once that she would become accustomed to it, but now, a sennight into their journey to Lochmean, she was beginning to doubt his word.

Things had changed between them over the course of their travels. Erik made valiant attempts to mind his tongue, and took excellent care of her wound—which hardly gave her trouble anymore. He always situated the bedroll for her at a respectable distance to the fire and offered his cloak when she was cold. He also hunted, citing the need for meat for himself, yet she was glad when he returned, grumbling and cursing about a lack of game.

She only nibbled on a biscuit and hid a secret smile—though evidently she failed to conceal it completely for he glared at her indignantly.

"A man requires meat, Christine, not only hard biscuits and bits of cheese."

She could not help but roll her eyes, knowing she would be far away from their camp if ever he _did _manage to procure an animal for feasting—manly needs or no.

But what changed most of all was their conversation. It was clear he did not yet fully believe that she was anything but a human female, but he still prodded and kindly enquired as to her past. Some days she remembered more details than others, and when his questions were met with only befuddled memories that she could not access, he would murmur apologies and sometimes offer his arm for her to rest her head upon—a small show of comfort that she held onto covetously.

Their only true contact with other people had been the few travellers they met on the road, though many kept a wide berth and paused, lowering their heads until Erik and Christine had passed.

"Why do they do this?" she finally asked, wondering if perhaps Erik was of higher standing than even she had considered.

Erik grunted. "My armour; they have heard tales of it in this land."

"Tales? Like they speak of my people, with wishes and beddings?"

He grimaced at that, and his arm about her waist tightened. "In a way. Although they believe that I bring death in my wake. I am certain seeing a beautiful maid upon my steed does little to allay their fears."

He did not look at her as he said this, and she wondered if it bothered him—that they would be so fearful merely at his coming. And some tug at her heart made her feel the need to offer him reassurance. "I am not afraid of you."

His eyes crinkled slightly, and she knew that he was pleased. "I should hope you are not. Of course there are advantages to their fear. I am respected and few try to challenge me unless I openly threaten something they care for. I make it a habit not to do so."

Perhaps what Christine liked best about their trek was when Erik would stop along the river and allowed Callum to rest. He only did so when there was a heavy covering of trees to ensure their privacy, so it was not every day—but often enough that Christine found herself looking forward to denser parts of the forest that loomed ahead. They would picnic at the bank, and on one particularly exciting day, he began to remove his armour.

She watched him curiously as he turned away, replacing his helm with his mask before removing the rest of the metal coverings. "Would you care for assistance?"

He fumbled with a gauntlet and it dropped to the ground with a clamour, apparently not expecting her offer of aid. "If you would like; though I am perfectly capable of seeing to it myself."

She sighed and rose from her seat on a rather large boulder, approaching him. "I am aware of that, but that does not mean you _must_ do it yourself. You do no protest when you have helped me with my laces. Perhaps I like to help you as you like to help me."

He remained silent but did not protest as she unbuckled and made a neat pile of his armour, leaving him in his tunic and breeches.

"Are we to make camp here? We usually ride until dusk."

Erik removed his boots. "We are nearly to Lochmean. We shall rest here and I shall bathe before we procure the rest of my payment."

She had never seen him _bathe _before. He would take a cloth—she suspected he had pilfered it from the tavern before they departed—and wet it before wiping down all the bits of exposed skin that he could reach. She had offered to help in that as well, but he had merely stared at her for a long moment before giving her a curt, "Thank you, but no."

Whoever had employed him must have been very important to demand a full bath. Christine nibbled her lip thoughtfully. "Would you be terribly upset if I joined you? I promise I shall keep my gown on."

She had meant it teasingly, though she truly did wish to experience the brisk water for herself. But Erik released a rather choked rasp, and she worried that he had offended him. "Forgive me, I should not have spoken."

He shook his head and stepped into the water swiftly. It was deeper now than when she had first experienced it, and he dove headfirst beneath the surface. He stayed under for longer than she anticipated, and before long she crept forward, the water rippling against her toes as she peered into the depths. "Erik?"

He rose up with a gasp, shaking the water from his hair as he did so. "You may certainly join me, Christine, if that is your desire."

There was something curious about the way he was behaving, and she looked at him warily for a moment before relenting. It was cold, but not as icy as before, the warmth of spring continuing to brush away the last remnants of winter. She walked forward carefully, acutely aware this time that slippery rocks could foil even the surest of footsteps.

Erik watched her with apparent amusement as she crept forward. "Aye, it is bracing. You shall grow used to it more quickly if you hurry."

The water was up to her thighs, but before she could decide if she should leap into it as he had done, Erik came closer and tugged at her hands firmly, pulling her further until her toes barely skimmed the bottom.

She panicked.

Erik seemed so at ease in the water, kicking and floating about as he pleased, though now his feet were firmly planted on the murky floor, his shoulders not even submerged.

But for Christine the water came nearly to her nose and she had to tilt her head just _so _to keep the ability to breathe, and she clung to him fiercely, afraid at any moment he would release her and her head would disappear into the depths with no way to reach the shore.

"Hush now, little nymph. There is nothing to fear."

He held her up a little higher, her head completely out of the water, and she scrambled forward so that she could cling to his chest, her arms wrapped tightly about his neck. "Do not let me drown."

His arms held her firmly against him, and she briefly wondered if it was simply to encourage her to release the tense grip she had about his neck, as his breath was rather short.

But then his lips were at her ear and suddenly she knew that he liked having her close, needing him. "_Never. _You are far too precious to succumb to a watery grave, not while I can help it."

He walked back toward the shore yet she did not release him, enjoying the closeness they shared and the way she felt so safe in his arms—strong, capable arms and a broad chest that made her feel small and protected as long as he was near.

"Why will you not marry me? You must know that I care for you."

She should not have spoken of it. She had told herself she would wait for him to broach the subject, giving him time to grow accustomed to the idea of her as his wife. But they had grown so easy in their manner, and being in his arms, so _very _close made her begin to yearn for other things—things that she could only pursue when he acknowledged the true nature of their bond.

And although she knew in her heart that they were one, if he wished to perform the ceremony of his people, she wished he would be ready for it soon.

He groaned, burying his head in her wet tresses, holding her impossibly closer. "I do not know, Christine. At this moment I truly do not know."

Her fingers found his hair, brushing through it softly. She wondered at its texture, dripping little streams of liquid that pooled upon the collar of his tunic. "Why do your people keep their hair so short?" It was long enough for her to play with, but just barely. Hair this length was kept for seedlings, not fully grown men.

He nuzzled into her neck, and she smiled, thinking it almost how Callum would seek out her hand for a treat. "Hair that is long can be used against you in a battle—one firm grasp and you are incapacitated." He paused, and she thought he placed a kiss against her throat. "Does it displease you?"

She ran her fingers through it once more, contemplating. She could not picture him with it any longer. He was not fair like her kin, and it suited him somehow. "No, it does not. And I should not wish for you to be hurt because of it."

He pulled back from her then, releasing his hold on her back and she slipped down to stand before him in the shallows, her arms still about his neck, though not nearly so securely. "That would trouble you? If I was to be injured?" He huffed and closed his eyes. "_Me, _and not merely your mate."

"Oh, Erik..."

Christine sighed and fiddled with one of the lacings on his tunic, struggling for the words that would soothe the wounded part of his heart that made him worry so.

She brought his hand to her chest, placing his palm above her heart as she stroked and quieted with a touch of her sensitive fingers, holding fast as he made to pull away. "You cannot feel it? I care for _you, _Erik. Not simply because you are my mate but because you are capable of great kindness, great love. You wished to show me that and you shall continue to do so—even though I am only an ignorant little nymph who follows you about and says all the wrong things. I look forward to the day when you will call me your wife, for it is then that I know you have accepted me, not merely from obligation but because you want for me to be yours."

Erik swallowed thickly, brushing his thumb against her collarbone. "I wish for nothing more. But it is so unfair to you..."

She scoffed. "You see me as a victim—as though you have thrust yourself upon me, a poor innocent youngling that is coerced into caring for you against my will." He hung his head shamefully, and she coaxed him to look at her with a gentle touch upon his masked cheek, a teasing smile on her lips. "I believe it is I who has pursued you, m'laird. You wished to set me free, to allow me to plead before my elders for leniency yet I would not go. It was I who wooed you into my bed, if only for sleep." She went up on tiptoe, mindful of the slippery riverbed beneath her as she whispered in his ear, "I hardly consider that the part of an unreceptive participant."

He kissed her.

His hands found her waist as he pulled her closer, his mouth melting with hers in a way that was so unlike anything she could have expected. For a moment she was frozen, unresponsive in her surprise but soon she wove her fingers in his hair, urging him all the nearer.

Some part of her heart leapt toward his, and was met and mingled and she had never felt more complete in all of her life.

And it ended far too quickly.

As soon as he pulled away, gasping for breath and looking nearly terrified, she felt as if a part of her soul had taken residence within his, leaving a dull ache in its wake.

But all the more curious was a new presence, a new awareness of the man before her, wrenching away and wading back to shore as she stood there, utterly drenched and bereft of his sudden absence.

"Erik, wait!"

He shook his head furiously, tearing off his own soaked tunic and wiping down his exposed skin roughly with his cloak before donning a clean one. "I should not have done that. You must forgive..."

"Erik, _stop._"

She said it was such ferocity that he did indeed cease his frantic movements, and instead blinked back at her.

Christine waded forward, her skirts clinging to her legs as she tried to keep from slipping, knowing that she simply had to reach him before this too was allowed to fester. "Do not apologise for that. _Never _apologise for finally allowing yourself to..."

She took a deep breath, willing down the tears that threatened to fall. "It is as it should be. And I will not have you tainting it with your doubts. I would not kiss you if I did not care, did not _love _you. Please do not hurt me by continuing to mistrust it."

Perhaps it was different for his people.

Perhaps they took longer for love to grow, to find its way into their hearts and minds before they were willing and able to express it to their mates.

But for her it was simple—so deliciously simple.

For a piece of him was lodged deep within her heart from the moment he touched her.

With every evidence of his care and attention it began to flourish.

And now she wished for nothing more than for him to confess that he felt the same, and consummate that knowledge with another of his delightful kisses.

Erik stared down at the pile of armour beside him. "I do not wish to hurt you," he murmured.

She drew closer, urging him to give in to the growing bond between them. "Then marry me. By whatever means are important to your people, I wish to be your wife."

He looked up at her then, his eyes blazing and so very dark and she shivered as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Once, twice, thrice more before pulling away, her lips tingling and her heart pulsing rapidly at his exuberance. "There is no going back. Once I have called you mine and made you my wife, I shall not offer you a separation as I have done."

She shook her head determinedly. "I would not ask for one."

His lips curved in an all too brief smile. "Then we shall be late for our audience with the king."

Despite how he twitched and sighed impatiently as they lazed about in the sun waiting to dry, Christine felt a peace like she had never known. Something had altered—something fundamental to their very beings now that he had accepted her. She wondered if it would be even more different when they had pledged themselves to one another as he had explained, but she could not imagine feeling any more contented than she did now.

Erik took a pinch of her gown between two fingers, rubbing it thoughtfully. "It appears dry enough."

She giggled. "You seem anxious, Erik. Do you worry I shall change my mind if you do not hurry?"

He hung his head as he reached for his boots, pulling them on with far more focus than was necessary. "Nay, not for that. I must hurry before I give in to the voice that tells me I must show you my face before I allow you to bind yourself to me."

Christine sighed in exasperation. "I have seen your face, and I am _already _bound to you. You should not be so troubled, not when all is well."

"What if..."

He fiddled with an errant buckle, and she crept closer, to soothe however she could. "I wish for you to be happy, Erik. What worries you so?"

His eyes shut firmly he turned away, already his jubilation at her feelings for him fading with self doubt. "What if, after you have married me, you think me too hideous to call husband? I cannot... I will not..." He growled and rose, reaching for each piece of armour and clapping it on roughly, even as she felt through their bond that he was shuttering away pieces of his heart.

"You may show me, if you like. Or you may choose to wear a mask for the rest of our days. As long as you are happy to call me wife and I have you as my mate, I shall be satisfied."

Erik sighed, a weary sound that sent a sympathetic surge of awareness through her. "You say that now..."

"I say it always. As often as you need hear it." Only barely did she resist the urge to stomp her food. They were so close, so _terribly _close to being happy, and he with all his boorish determination would keep it from them as he tried foolishly to keep her away.

"You have been the one to keep us apart, Erik. Not I. I may understand your reasons but know that I have been willing and agreeable to our union since I first awoke in your bedroll. I will not part from you whether you agree to our marriage or not, but I should very much like to begin loving you properly, but first you must allow me to do so."

She came closer and laid her hand gently on the firm muscle of his back, making soothing circles upon it with her fingertip. "You are not ready to remove your mask. To do so now would only cause you pain. So marry me now, and _trust _that I shall be faithful to you, continue to care for you even after you have shown yourself to me."

His shoulders trembled and she wondered if he suppressed tears, but he turned and gathered her into his arms, holding her so close it nearly kept breath from entering her lungs. "I want to trust you. But so many have..."

She silenced him by placing a kiss upon his chest, where the undone laces of his tunic exposed slivers of supple flesh that she longed to explore. "Yours are a stupid people, who do not know goodness when they see it. But I do. You are safe with me, just as I am safe with you."

They departed quickly after that. Even Callum must have sensed their urgency for he made no protest to the abrupt end to his grazing, nor did he object to the steady pace Erik set. He led her to a stone building, tucked away in a thicket. Moss grew and thrived over most of the structure, save a small patch on the roof where the sunlight warmed it.

He dismounted first and helped Christine down before hurrying them both into the aging edifice. A stout little man approached them, and after Erik, dressed completely in his armour, commanded that they be wed, he ushered them to the front and bid them repeat the vows that Erik had once spoken of with such derision.

To Christine it was all very strange, but she held his hand and murmured the words she was bid, and loved the way his eyes burned with pleasure as she pledged herself to him. For always.

But most of all she liked when the cleric pronounced them man and wife, and Erik pulled her away, back to a waiting Callum, who cared little for the now married state of his master and the creature he had collected.

She expected Erik to help her back onto the saddle but instead he pulled her further into the trees, ensuring their privacy from even the dark and placid eyes of Callum.

He took a steadying breath before taking her face between his palms. "I wish to show you. To trust you. To kiss my new wife as she deserves."

Christine nodded her consent, and with a shuddering sigh he removed his helm, this time not turning away to fumble with replacing it with a mask.

He was not as she remembered. She vaguely recalled flashes of scars, ribbons of puckered tissue where smooth, pale flesh should have been.

She reached up to skim the smooth cheek, trying to recall why she had thought him so ill to look upon.

For he was lovely, and so very fair, even if his features were darker than most of her kin.

And when her sensitive fingers made contact with the perfectly formed skin he gasped, his eyes widening as his own hand reached up to cover hers, his face contorting in shock, and... fear?

"Christine, what have you done?"

* * *

Sooo... They got married! Of course, to Christine they've been "married" for much longer, but Erik's finally ready to accept that, so talk about progress! As for the last bit... thoughts? Reactions? What do you think happened?


	16. Chapter 16

Okay, I'm getting worse at this! Somebody is going to need to get on the "Remind Kitty it's Posting Day!" brigade because... yeah. Sooo didn't remember that was today. But luckily I did at the last minute! I'm going to blame having _way _too many projects going on at the same time... university actually being the least of them. (Has anyone ever been foolish enough to volunteer to paint a church sanctuary? With only one other person? Aaannyybody?)

Ahem.

Anyway. You don't care about that. Yooou want to know what has happened to Erik! For good reason...

Onward!

* * *

XVI

Erik did not like to touch his face.

Years of practice had made it typically unnecessary. A cloth served perfectly well to scrub away the sweat of the day, and even when peeling off the mask he was careful to avoid coming into contact with the misshapen tissues.

For it repulsed him.

And if it repulsed even him, how could he expect this lovely creature, his new _wife _to be subjected to it?

Except when he had removed his helm and her delicate fingertip had brushed against his flesh, he _felt _it.

One single brush of her hand against his cheek and his entire world had altered.

Burns were a curious thing. While the body worked admirably to ensure the intricate muscle and sinews were adequately covered by new flesh, the scars were rubbery and utterly devoid of sensation.

But he felt _her._

Her eyes were wide and almost fearful, but she made no move to pull away from him. "What do you mean? I did nothing!"

He clutched at her, torn between kissing her in exaltation and recoiling from her—this unknown entity that he had just wedded.

"What are you?"

He had asked it of her before, and she had continued with her story about nymphs and people who lived amongst the trees.

And he had dismissed her.

She said she could not grant a wish.

And yet for as long as he could remember he had wept and begged healers and divine beings alike to cure him of this affliction.

The product of a mother's scorn.

Tears were in her eyes, and he knew that he frightened her. She had expected a monster, for that was what he was—still would be. For until he could see his reflection, could see and touch for himself, he could not be certain it was real.

"You know what I am. You simply have not wanted to believe me."

"You are a witch." But even as he spoke the words, saw her flinch, he knew that he did not believe it. There was nothing evil in her, nothing that would cause him to believe she was some figment bent on his destruction.

"I am a nymph, as was my _amé_. My _adar_ was a dryon. We are the people of the wood..."

She was crying, great painful sobs as she shook her head, imploring him to accept her.

Everything about this was wrong.

"Hush, little nymph, I am sorry. You... your magic startled me."

An understatement if ever there was one. His mind reeled at the possibilities, that she had been the answer to every one of his prayers. He was not a greedy man. If she did indeed possess magic—and he palmed the smoothness of his ruined cheek once more to see if was still there—he would not abuse it. He would not require her to conquer lands or bestow him with riches.

For she had already performed the greatest of magicks.

And he would be forever in her debt.

He knelt before her, clutching at her skirt and legs. Not a half hour before he had sworn his love and devotion, but now he was prepared to take a vow of a different sort. One of fealty and honour, that he would do as she commanded. Never had he been willing take such oaths before a king, wretched monarchs as they were, but he would for her—_to _her, if she would have him.

"My lady..."

She lurched away from him. "No! You do not bow, you do not..." Christine took a bracing breath before falling to her knees, mimicking his own position. "I have no magic to offer you, Erik. I do not know what has happened to you. My tree should have healed _me_, yet it did not, for it perished upon our sealing. Perhaps you were not as horrid looking as we supposed."

He scoffed, ill prepared for any of this. The joy and rapture at their sudden decision to marry had since waned, euphoria of a different nature washing over him even as dread and suspicion burned almost as poignantly.

"Nothing has changed."

She was pleading with him, and he could not allow that—not when he only wished for her happiness. If it had seemed wrong before to call himself her husband, it was magnified exponentially now that she truly was the angel he had originally thought her.

"Of course it has changed. If I had thought myself unworthy before..."

Christine rushed forward, tugging at his hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

It was so different without a mask.

His lips were free to nibble and discover, and he felt each aching caress as she learned the chiselled planes of his face—unexplored even by him.

Finally she pulled away, colour high in her cheeks and her lips slightly swollen. "No regrets. Not about this. You have married me, Erik. You are my mate, chosen and sealed. You said that if I agreed you would never let me go, and I tell you now the same. I ask no other vow than what you have already taken, but please, _be _my mate. Care for me, love me, and let us be happy."

How could he refuse?

His mind rebelled, wishing to analyse and pry until he could explain what and how she had come to be. There were others of her to be sure—now that he considered it, Raghnall must have been one of the _dryons _she mentioned, the male of their species.

But his heart knew that her words were true and sincere, and it would be foolishness itself to deny her most earnest desire—especially when it so perfectly coincided with his own.

"I have questions."

She nodded. "As do I, but I have few answers to give. I doubt even the elders have knowledge of what has transpired."

He rose, needing to return to the river and search for a pool still enough that he might see his reflection. But before he had even taken a step in retreat she reached forward and grasped his wrist, still seated on the soft grasses below. "What say you? You will be my mate? My husband? In all things?"

He sighed and helped her to her feet, unable to bear her beseeching eyes. "Allow me to look, Christine. Please. I must see it for myself."

She followed after him as he turned toward the heavily wooded path which led to the water. A small inlet did indeed form peaceful pool, and he peered into its depths, unsure of what he wished to see.

To have changed meant that his wife was not as he had assumed. It meant he had entered into a strange world previously unfathomable to his precise and exacting mind.

But to be proven wrong—to see the contorted flesh that spoke of hatred and sin would devastate him.

And so he looked.

And was reborn.

"How can this be?" His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the reflection, the perfectly formed features, the straight nose, the even skin without mark or blemish. He swallowed thickly, promising himself he would not release the sob that threatened to escape. "_How?_"

Christine sank down beside him, a hint of wariness in the action. "I do not know. I heard that some humans were born with terrible plights. Were your scars a result of birth or of accident?"

He laughed wryly. "Neither. They were inflicted by my lady mother when she learned of my father's infidelity."

Her eyes widened. "What? How could a mother do such a thing?"

He stared at her incredulously. "Do your people not abuse one another? Did your father never hit you or punish you for something that another committed?"

She shook her head slowly. "My _adar _loves me. We do not... hit or... punish." From her expression he could easily tell the concept of a punishment was something new.

He was grateful that she did not ask him to elaborate.

"Well, in my world children often suffer for the misdeeds of their parents."

He did not wish to speak of it—relate the whole tragic tale in its entirety. He only knew of it from the whispers of the servants, who looked at him with both pity and suspicion.

_Poor dear, not even his mother could love him._

_Surely he deserved it._

_Little devil. Better he had died than have a face like that._

She came a bit closer, wrapping her arm about his as she leaned her head against his shoulder. The voices of his past seemed to fade at her offering of comfort, and he sighed. "And you wonder why I wished for you to be able to return to your home. You are far too good, far too trusting to survive in mine."

They sat in silence for a while, Erik casting anxious glances into the water every so often, almost certain that the abused flesh would appear at any moment.

"I am glad of it."

He grunted, not certain he was ready to delve into the curious processes of her thinking, but ultimately relenting. "Of what?"

She peered up at him, evidence of her tears still clinging to her lashes, and before he could stop himself he was brushing them away with his thumb. "That there is a reason. That if I should have to leave my people that it was for something so important. I did not know that being bound to me could provide you such healing on the outside, but I had hoped—still hope—that it can offer you some healing on the inside."

How could he possibly deserve her?

But perhaps...

Perhaps he did not need to.

He was her husband, and she was his wife, in both the eyes of her kin and the mores of his kind.

And perhaps he was allowed to accept her gentle touches, her earnest words without fear of reproach.

"What do you wish for, little nymph?"

She hummed, allowing a delicate toe—now whole and perfect since he had taken to carrying her over every bit of foliage that might cause her harm—to skim across the surface of the pool, the ripples obscuring their reflections.

"I wish for a home. I wish for a man who loves me and will give me tiny little seedlings of my own." He smiled softly that she said _man _instead of the male of her kind, although the idea of children left him feeling nervous and unsure.

She sighed wistfully. "I wish for you to be happy. With me."

So simple, yet so full of meaning.

Many of the noblewomen he had observed longed for power and prestige. They draped themselves in jewels and brocade, their eyes following whatever man could elevate their position.

But not her.

She longed for a place to call home since hers had been so cruelly taken from her.

And his thoughts drifted to the little cottage nestled in the woods, the only bit of land tied to his name, and he felt a moment's fury.

For he was the firstborn son of a lord. And his inheritance had been taken from him by the deranged actions of the woman who had birthed him. And his wife deserved an estate, not a crudely built dwelling that felt confining even for a lone individual.

She deserved so much more.

"Will we be in trouble for being so late to see your king?"

Erik groaned. "He is not _my _king. I am under no one's rule."

She huffed quietly, and while that might have once annoyed him as being rude or disrespectful, it now seemed endearing.

It meant she was comfortable with him—that she did not have to mind her emotions so carefully, wary of his every outburst.

And he liked thinking that she trusted him.

"The man then. I would not wish for you to be... _punished._"

She said the word curiously, peering up at him to see if she used it properly. "Do not worry about such things now, Christine. No one has punished me for a very long time. And no matter what you do, no one shall be allowed to lay a hand on you. You are safe." He would gladly take any blows fettered out if it meant protecting her from the harsh realities of life amongst mankind.

She nestled closer to his side. "I do not know why you worry so about being my mate. You give me little reason to ever complain."

Erik smirked. "I shall remind you of that when we are old and grey and you find me tiresome."

She rolled her eyes. "We will not be old-growths for a very long time, so I shall enjoy plenty of your care before then."

He should question her about her kind as it was with some strange awareness that he realised that it was not strictly _her _kind any longer, not if the powers of her people had healed him.

Erik swallowed, not sure if he was ready to consider that _all _of the unusual happenings since he had made her acquaintance were true. But if it could bring her comfort to know that some part of him was ready to accept it, perhaps it would be worth it to push back the remaining doubts as best he could.

"I had a dream. Two men, or perhaps your _dryons_, were before a shrivelled tree. The one spoke of a lost daughter and believed that her tree lived, while the other reminded him that she was still forbidden from returning."

Christine sat up, and he immediately missed her presence against him. "You saw _Adar?_ Did he look well?"

The grief and sorrow had been plain upon his features, and Erik did not need to know of his usual countenance to perceive it. "He was heavy hearted, but he still hoped that you lived."

She blinked and stared at him with wonderment. "Thank you. To know that my tree is still with him—might someday heal..." She nearly knocked him backward with her enthusiasm. Her arms went about him, clutching at his neck as she buried her face in the crook. "Thank you."

It was an odd thing that she cared so much for her parent. Erik had no experience in that of his own, but he found that he did not begrudge her for it. On the contrary, he was glad that she was cared for, protected and loved. He had often wondered if perhaps the only person who could truly understand him would be some wretched soul who had suffered as he did—that they could commiserate and find comfort through shared wounds that they nursed together.

But such was not so.

For she knew of goodness in the world and saw those twisted bits in him and she determined to coax them back to the way they should have been before cruelty and pain had sent them into hiding.

He was still a brute. He would still travel to and fro performing whatever duty provided coin. But he could readily acknowledge that his motivation had changed—that he now wished to do so not from the distaste and apathy from before, but because he had to provide for his wife.

And he would do it well.

"Come along, little nymph, we have tarried long."

She took his hand easily and he stored away in the recesses of his heart the soft and grateful smile that she gave him. And he revelled in her breathless giggle as he scooped her into his arms and walked determinedly back to Callum, depositing her gently and pulling her close as he bid the horse onward.

"Is Lochmean a nice place? Shall I like it there?"

She had shifted in the saddle, both legs over one side as a proper lady, though her torso was turned and she rested her cheek against his breastplate—over the very mark which struck fear in those who knew his sigil.

He was silent for a moment, contemplating how much he should disclose. "I have not found it to be so." He hesitated, before determining to be brave. "Should I belong to a house any longer, my lands would have been a part of that kingdom."

She nibbled her lip thoughtfully, and he was grateful that Callum was so adept at navigation as he was wholly distracted by the action. "You do not speak well of your home. Was it... Forgive me, I should not enquire."

They rode in silence for a while, the landscape shifting to the open plains that would eventually reveal a looming fortress. Erik held no affection for his native lands. He supposed there was a comfort in their familiarity but too well he knew the suspicion and cruelty that dwelled in the hearts of these people, and he only accepted employment here on the rarest of occasions.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself firmly that Christine did not pry. She did not seek out his secrets as a tool to do him harm, but instead harboured only the natural curiosity of one seeking to know and understand another person.

"My father was a lord, one held in high regard. I was his firstborn and stood to inherit, but my mother..." He clenched the hand holding the reins into a fist, never able to consider the woman he had birthed him without an outpouring of rage. But soon gentle fingers were covering it, soothing and caressing, and he was able to continue.

"She thought him unfaithful. He was not a kind man, and it might have been true that he had hidden away a mistress on the grounds. But my mother thought by birthing him a son—an heir—that he would be satisfied. He was pleased, but considered much of his duty to her accomplished and returned to his... other pursuits."

Christine shook her head. "But they were bonded..."

Erik leaned forward and opened his faceplate so he could place a kiss upon her temple, surprised at how easily he had come to do so. "Our people do not _bond. _They marry, and not usually for love. They take vows that they do not mean and hurt the ones they have sworn to protect." He waited until she looked up at him. "I will not do that to you, Christine. You must believe that."

She rested her head against him so sweetly, and it made his heart swell. "I do."

This next part was the worst of it, and he wondered if he should even burden her with such knowledge—that someone, a _mother,_ could be capable of such wickedness. "So she tried to dispose of it. She threw her infant into the fire until his face melted and the screams and cries sent a maid in to help."

Christine gasped, shock and horror gracing her features as tears pooled in her eyes.

"She claimed I was possessed, that the devil had hold of me and I had to be cleansed. Some believed her. Others thought she was a bitter woman but they were in her service so they said nothing." He said the words weakly, trying not to remember his unhappy childhood. He roamed the halls and learned whatever he could, not understanding how the pitied and hateful glances could be directed at him. Clerics had been called to assess his condition, and though they could find nothing wrong with him, the suspicions had remained.

Until finally he left.

He left the people who should have sheltered and loved him, left the land and the ancestral home that he should willing sacrifice his life to protect.

"Do you understand?"

She was crying softly, and she wrapped her arms about his neck and he rather thought that if his helm was removed she would be pressing kisses to whatever bits of flesh she could. "My poor, poor, Erik. You shall know only loving gestures from me. Our seedlings will be healthy and strong and I would never, _ever _hurt them!"

It was the second time she had mentioned children, and the dull shroud of nervousness gave way to outright dread. It was not as though he was repulsed by the notion—certainly not at the idea of _creating _them. And he knew, with the deepest fibres of his being that Christine was nothing like his own spiteful mother.

He could not even begin to imagine himself as a father, but he knew that he was capable of love—that as she had just proclaimed, he would _never _hurt them.

But if he allowed himself to accept that they were of wholly different species, and that her happiness was contingent on the idea of children, what if he could not provide her a baby?

He supposed there were no guarantees for any couple. They both prayed and tried, some more desperately than others, and they accepted what babes eventually came of their union.

"I promise you the same, little nymph. Should we ever have a babe of our own, no harm shall come to it. Not while I yet live."

But soon talk of babies and past horrors came to an end for they passed through the iron gates and made way toward the great stone stronghold before them.

Christine's eyes were wide and she peered about furiously, evidently trying to absorb everything at once. "Erik, what is this place?"

He grimaced as the guards and townsfolk gawked and stared as the dark knight and his lady approached —some with wonderment, others with fear, and his arm tightened about her as he noticed a few with lust obviously in their hearts and minds.

"This, Christine, is the Castle of Lochmean."

And when the gates closed behind them with a deep and resounding _clang_, Erik knew a moment's foreboding that perhaps this transaction would not proceed as smoothly as he had originally hoped.

* * *

Sooo... No, Erik's face is not merely healed in Christine's eyes simply because she loves him. Something bigger is going on between them that we... scientifically inclined people are just going to have to... jump on board with! Or at least do our best :) (And yes, I count myself as one of those peoples!)

And now we're entering a strange new world of castles and kings! Any predictions of how that is going to go? Here's a hint... they end up staying longer than they intended to... and not entirely for good reasons...

See you Thursday! Hopefully. If I can remind myself that it's posting day! Maybe if I make giant sticky-notes and post them around my room...


	17. Chapter 17

Okay, everybody gets to thank _The Brigade _for sending me a virtual sticky note that today is posting day... for _yes, _I did forget! *sigh* Perhaps someday I'll get my act together. Does Senioritis go away on its own or is the only cure graduation?

Anyway, new characters this chapter! Though they might not be quite as fun as my dear Harold and the strumpet Mabel... but I'll let you judge them for yourselves in Mega Chapter the Sequel!

Onward!

* * *

XVII

Christine had never imagined such a structure. It was entirely made of stone, with large circular towers that rose high above them. The open spaces surrounding them lacked entirely in flora, dirt roads deeply impacted by tread and wear the only bits of earth she could see.

"Are you nervous, little nymph?"

Unthinkingly she had pressed herself as close to Erik's body as she could manage, and her grip on his arm was firm. She forced herself to loosen her hold in case he should need to hastily have use of his arm—or his sword—though she was grateful when he only held her more firmly instead.

"You have no need to be. This should not take overly long and then we shall see about finding that home you desired."

How could he think himself unlovable when already his words could infuse her with such warmth and tenderness?

"I trust you, Erik." She nibbled her lip. "But are there usually this many people?"

The market she had sought sanctuary in had been bustling with bodies, and so far the home of not-Erik's-king was remarkably similar. But instead of merchants calling out for her to try their wares, these people bustled and busied with building wooden structures and hanging bright and colourful fabrics from every nook they could find.

"Nay. It appears they are preparing for a tournament."

She almost asked what a _tournament _entailed but they had come to two large and intricately carved wooden doors, and Erik dismounted. She smiled at him gratefully when he reached up to help her down from Callum's high seat before he gestured for a young boy to take him to the stables.

"Mind he is well treated! I do not take kindly to those who forget to give him a proper rub down."

"Of course, m'lord!"

The boy gave a short bow, his eyes taking in Erik's armour with a wary expression.

"They fear you."

Erik took her hand and placed it on his arm, the heavy doors suddenly opening, seemingly of their own accord. "Aye, they do, and rightly they should."

He led her onwards, and she marvelled at the high stone arches and tall ceilings, though she refrained from imploring Erik to slow his gait so she could appreciate them at her leisure.

She was inexplicably nervous.

The elders of her people were highly respected, and while some could inspire more reverence than their more benevolent counterparts, Christine had never been overly distressed at meeting with them.

But the idea of this king—this king who was not Erik's king—made her move a bit closer to her bond-mate, seeking the assurance of his presence. "Fear not, little nymph. He cannot hurt you. Simply smile and keep close to me and all shall be well."

She appreciated his instruction and was glad that the requirements for an audience with a king did not include her being torn from his side.

"Ah, my faithful assassin returns! And bringing an addition with him, I see. How delightful."

Erik stiffened but continued his approach. A man sat an ornate throne, the gems and precious metals glistening in the afternoon sun. He was elevated, and as they approached, Christine thought it strange that he should be so. Did not the king like to confer with his people as equals? Even during matters of censures the elders would come alongside the troublemaker, stating their disappointment and advice in such a manner that was both gentle yet firm.

Things were so different in this world.

"The deed has been done, as you have requested. I am here only to receive payment."

The man, older than Erik but certainly not an ancient, narrowed his eyes. "Still so ill-mannered. Most would bow and remove their helm in the presence of a king, lord assassin; you would do well to follow their example."

Erik merely inclined his head. "Payment?"

The king's mouth drew to a grim line but he quickly recovered. "If you shall not offer me the necessary courtesies then you may at least introduce me to your enchanting companion. She must be very important should you take her with you on your... dealings of trade."

"Christine. My _wife._ The man is dead, as you requested. There was much blood, as you _also _requested. And now, payment." Erik spat the word with some distaste, and Christine glanced up at him in surprise. When she had witnessed the altercation between Erik and the man he had killed, she had assumed that it was always so gruesome and messy.

"Always so quick to deal with business instead of tending to matters of propriety." The king rose and descended the many steps until he stood before them. His height was short compared to Erik's, but tall for a man. He was also of a greater build than she had anticipated, and she hid behind her bond-mate as best she could. "Christine, was it? And from which kingdom do you hail?"

Christine's eyes darted from the man smiling at her expectantly and the many guards and finely dressed people that lined the grand room. "I..." Erik had said she had only to smile!

"She is from the North, and our courtship was quick. You can understand why I am anxious to receive payment and return with her to my home."

She blushed deeply, the insinuation in his voice clear even to her. It should not trouble her to hear her mate reference their most personal of acts—especially when they had yet to occur—but it did. And suddenly she wished to pull away from him, even as her nerves grated in the presence of this unknown ruler.

The king's smile broadened. "Indeed. But it is so late in the day and I would certainly be a poor host to allow you to leave without respite. Your lady appears as though she would appreciate a hot bath and a warm bed." Christine tugged at her dress, wondering if it truly looked so rumpled as to suggest Erik had not cared for her sufficiently.

"That will not..." Erik began, but the king quickly interjected.

"And besides, perhaps during the evening meal I could persuade you to participate in our humble tournament. I do so look forward to crowning a rightful champion."

The idea of experiencing the _hot bath _he mentioned was a tempting one. She remembered how wonderful the steaming water had felt upon her then-abused feet, and the idea of being entirely submerged, perhaps with Erik there again to tend to her so sweetly...

Erik was watching her. Before it would have been difficult to tell for certain since his face was so obscured by the nature of the helm, but now she could _feel _his eyes as they sought her opinion, and she finally met his gaze. She would not implore him—if he truly wished to leave immediately she would follow without protest. But the idea of sharing this with him was a tantalising one, and they had not yet gotten to celebrate their sealing properly—something she hoped would soon be rectified.

"Very well. We shall stay the night."

The king clapped his hands. "Excellent! Someone shall show you to the bathhouse and then to your accommodations. The feast to commemorate the tourney begins at sundown, and I hope you shall be able to tear yourself away from your lovely bride long enough to attend."

Erik grumbled lowly and Christine could not quite make out the meaning, but it was obvious he did not appreciate the king mentioning their more intimate activities. Christine did not approve of it being spoken of so publically either—the acts between bond-mates was a sacred affair, and not to be impugned through mockery and jest. She found it ridiculous that Erik acted as though it troubled him when he was guilty of the same misconduct.

She tried not to be troubled by it, but when he took her arm and they followed after someone seemingly knowledgeable about the location of these hot baths, she did not feel as comforted by his touch as she had before.

"You are troubled."

He was peering at her intently and the part of her that was not offended by his improper speech revelled in his use of their bond to tell of her irritation. But the rest of her thought him boorish and course, and she did not appreciate that the king would now assume they were about to seal their bond.

So instead she sniffed and remained silent, continuing to follow the young woman who led them down into the bowels of the fortress. Christine had expected it to grow colder the deeper they traversed into the stone crypts, but the air was warm and somewhat misty.

Erik took hold of her arm and appeared ready to say something, but instead she turned to their guide. "How is it so warm?"

"The castle was built upon the remnants of a hot spring, m'lady. It makes for a lovely bath and I'm sure you shall be quite comfortable here." The girl's eyes flickered to Erik's looming presence beside her, trepidation obvious in her countenance. At any other time Christine might have nestled closer to his side, wishing to relay that he was kind and gentle with her. But the sting of his insinuations still sent a remembrance of mortification through her and she waited patiently for the girl to continue leading them onward.

She pushed steadily against a wooden door, swollen and cracked from moisture, and eventually gestured them through to a steaming pool cut into the stone floor. "Beggin' your pardon, m'lady but I didn't know if you and your lord husband would be liking to bath together or separately..." She blushed as she said it, her eyes resolutely on the floor.

"Together."

Erik's voice was commanding and allowed no room for refusal.

The girl nodded and hurried to a low cabinet in the corner, filled with neatly folded linens that Christine supposed were intended for drying.

"And we are not to be disturbed. I do not care how you go about it but until we exit this room, none shall enter lest their lives be forfeit."

Her eyes widened and Christine would easily see she trembled, but she curtseyed swiftly all the same. "Of course, m'lord. None shall enter."

She all but ran from the room, and Christine tried to conjure up the feelings of wonderment and excitement being so near to such a large quantity of hot steamy water. But instead she felt the remnants of her frustration with her bond-mate, no matter how she wished them away.

Christine remained by the door, surveying the little room while Erik began the tedious process of removing his armour. If he was surprised that she did not offer to help he made no comment of it.

Eventually he was left in nothing but his breeches, the rest of his accoutrements lying in a tidy pile at his feet. "Do you not intend to undress?"

She gave him a fleeting look, still finding it odd that his face was uncovered. His hair was shaggy and dark and from the way he held his head, with some of it coming to conceal his features, it was evident he found the exposure still somewhat discomfiting. "I have already had a bath this day. I hardly need another."

With great effort she kept from giving the enticing water a longing glance. But it seemed inappropriate to engage in any such intimate activities when someone _knew _they were indulging in them.

Erik sighed. "Speak, little nymph. It is clear that something is wrong and that I have offended you in some way, but you must give me some reprieve by pointing out at least the general description of my transgression. Did the king frighten you?"

She blinked at him. "Why should he have frightened me? You promised you would not allow him to do me harm."

"Aye, and yet you are the farthest away from me you have been in nearly a sennight's time."

She nibbled her lip, trying to decide if she should relent and speak her troubles aloud or give herself time to overcome them without adding to his many burdens.

But he _told _her to speak—or perhaps demanded was a more accurate distinction—and that same impulse to do as he bid, simply because he asked it, flared anew.

"I did not like your insinuations to the king. I am your mate; and what we do... what we _shall _do is private." She stopped, suddenly wondering if he did not consider it so. "Or is it not to you? Do your people openly suggest and discuss what should be only known between us two?" She worried her gown between her fingers, not at all liking that he would divulge the nature of their wonderful, burning kisses to another person.

He came forward quietly, but with purpose, his large hand encircling hers before leading her forward. "Come."

Any protest died upon her lips at the intensity of his gaze as he led her to the edge of the pool and then took her by the shoulders, turning her away from him. "What are you..."

"Hush. You have voiced your trouble and now it is time for me to remedy them."

She heard rustling behind her but did not even dare to peek at what he must be doing. Soon gentle fingers were tugging at the laces of her gown and she almost squeaked out another enquiry as to his intentions, but just as her dress was about to fall to the floor he pulled his tunic over her head and tugged at it until she was _mostly _covered.

And then he took her hand once more and pulled her into the bath.

And it was _glorious._

She must not have been so achingly cold this time for there was no painful stinging in her toes or fingers, just a welcoming warmth that soothed aching muscles and joints and lulled her into a pliable waif, helpless but to move and soak as Erik prompted.

"You misunderstand, Christine. These kings—nay, in truth, most men—they are not interested in hearing of a bond between a husband and wife. They wish to hear of lewd details, of trysts in the woods or with a willing trollop in the local tavern. When I have dealings with them I allow them to take the information I provide as they will, as ultimately it means nothing." He drew closer, his hands coaxing her to lie in the wonderfully hot water, supporting her as she floated on the surface.

He bent low and his breath sent a shiver through her as it met the moistness of her skin. "Only we know what we feel when we touch, when our lips meet and our souls mingle. Only ever us."

Her mind was hazy, the comfort of the bath mixed with the delicious feel of his hands as they kept her from slipping under the surface of the water made her thoughts muddle as she tried to remember her previous feelings. "But..."

"I shall be mindful of your modesty in the future, Christine. But know that I would never dream of revealing what passes between us. The way your skin feels beneath my palm, the breathy little gasp you release as I pull away from a kiss—I _covet _such knowledge, and would never share it with the likes of my fellow men. Not for all the gold in all the kingdoms."

Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the sincerity, the wisps of love and beginning desire for _more _drift across their bond—seeking, finding, and mingling in mutual yearning for one another. "You are safe with me... in all things. But _especially _in this."

She believed him. She would trust that he said what was necessary before the leaders of his realm, remembering that he valued his privacy and would do all he could to protect hers as well.

Christine peeked out with one eye, revelling in the way his gaze burned down at her. "Are you going to kiss me now?"

Erik required no other encouragement.

His hands supporting her back drew away and for a moment she ceased her lovely floating and panicked that she would fall in the deep pool, but his hands found her and brought her close, his mouth seeking hers with all the intensity he could muster. And as her legs brushed against his she noted with surprise that Erik had removed his breeches.

She was in naught but his own black tunic, and she wondered if he would seal them then, truly and properly, in that very pool.

But soon he ended the kiss and rested his forehead upon hers, his breath ragged and his eyes bright. "Tell me you want this. Want me."

She knew what he asked. Perhaps without the benefit of their bond she would think he was asking her permission to continue their activities, to join them in the most intimate of sealings. But his voice was quiet and pleading, and she felt his vulnerability as acutely as if it was her own. "I want you Erik. All of you. In every way. Even if you still bore your scars, I would want you."

He released a shuddering sigh and pulled her close into his embrace, and his body was warm and hard, muscle and sinew, firm from years of conflict and struggle. Perhaps he was not as burly as some of the other men she had witnessed throughout her many seasons, but she still felt so very safe within his arms.

For there was no doubt that he treasured her as she always dreamed he would.

"Come. It will be sundown soon and I would not wish the king to send servants to look for us."

She nestled a little closer, not yet ready to be parted. But an unwelcome consideration infiltrated the perfection of the moment and thinking of some unsuspecting person walking in on them—perhaps a young woman as brash and forward as Mabel had been—who would then get to see and appreciate Erik's fine form that was only _hers _to witness was distressing in the extreme.

"Very well, my mate. Should you like me to shield my eyes as you redress?" She meant her tone to be light and teasing, but by the way he hung his head and seemed acutely embarrassed, she wished she had not spoken at all.

"I am sorry, Erik. Of course I shall not look if you do not wish it."

The confident man who had drawn her into the bath had retreated, and he mumbled his thanks as she turned away, hearing the telltale splash and rustle of clothing as he made himself decent once more.

She expected him to tell her when he was finished so that she too could don her gown, but instead she released a yelp of surprise when he plucked her out of the water, wrapping her tightly in clean linen before proceeding to dry her, thoroughly and methodically.

"You have drenched my tunic, little nymph, and I cannot have that. You might not like me to walk above stairs without being clothed."

She bit back her defence that _he _had been the one to put her in the garment, as she realised he was merely offering an excuse to touch her.

So she let him work and dry and rub until finally he helped her back into her gown and pulled on his slightly damp tunic.

The journey to their room was a hurried one. One glance outside revealed that the sun had already slipped beneath the horizon, and Christine wondered if the king would be angry at their delay. As soon as they had emerged from the bathing rooms an obviously anxious servant had appeared and offered to escort them to their chamber.

Christine was unused to the many steps that bespoke of just how large and tall this fortress truly was, and before long she was quite exhausted. She almost wished she could ask Erik to carry her up the many flights, but he was heavy laden carrying his armour and had little ability to bear her as well.

But finally they were ushered into a chamber, the likes of which were beyond Christine's imaginings. A fire was lit and was already doing wonders to ward off the slight chill of the previously unused accommodation. The walls were draped with rich fabrics of deep hues that provided some semblance of warmth to the stone room. There was a large bed—far larger than the one at the tavern—that was equally adorned with luxurious linens, and for a moment she wished to ignore the king's offer of a meal in favour of seeing if it was as soft and wonderful as it appeared.

"Wait there, we shall be ready to descend in a moment."

The little servant girl gave a curtsy and did not seem the least offended when Erik shut the door in front of her, leaving himself and Christine alone.

The rug before the large fireplace beckoned to her as the delicate threads seemed to shimmer in the glow of the flames.

Erik was rifling through his saddlebag, servants evidently having brought it to their chamber by someone's order. She hoped he would not be angry for their presumption.

He quickly exchanged his tunic and even donned a doublet of even finer quality. It was a very dark grey, the careful black stitching offsetting the colour remarkably.

She thought him terribly handsome.

She smoothed her skirts and hair as best she could, suddenly wishing she had something to change into as well. "You are loveliness itself, Christine. It is I that am..." He stopped, years of practice at defaming his appearance impossible to overcome all at once.

"You are very fine to look upon, my mate. And you are very kind to care for me as you do."

He shifted uncomfortably, waving a hand over the neat pile of armour resting near the wall. "I generally wear it at all times. It is better than explaining the mask."

She shook her head and held out a hand, and she was pleased how readily he stepped forward to receive it. "It is better this way."

The feast was a bustle of lively conversation, boisterous laughter, and stringed instruments that only added to the merriment. Christine watched it all with rapt attention. There were long tables that held copious amounts of food, and the individuals seated on both sides held little qualms about filling their plates enthusiastically. Girls and young men mingled throughout the tables, filling wine goblets and clearing away empty trays, and Christine thought she saw a few swiping off bits of not-quite cleared and stuffing them into pockets.

Were they not fed adequately?

"Ah, my guests of honour! I would not have recognised you without your lovely wife on your arm."

Erik was rigid but led her to two empty seats near the king. A younger man was seated on his opposite side, and Christine thought that he showed some distaste at the king's greeting. "Amour must be removed sometime."

From his demeanour Christine could easily see that Erik was uncomfortable, so unused was he to people looking at his bare features. She took his hand as they settled in their respective places, and she sought to distract him. "What shall my stomach like tonight, my mate? Nothing with meat, please."

From the corner of her eyes she could make out the small twitch of his lips that belied her success, and she watched with satisfaction as he filled her plate with all kinds of interesting looking foodstuffs—minus the obvious remnants of a deer that were artfully displayed upon a platter.

"So, Erik."

Erik did not look at the king, but merely inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. "There is a fine purse available to the champion of my little tournament. It might even be enough for you to retire for a while and see to your new wife properly! I have not had the pleasure of seeing your skills for myself, but tales of your prowess have reached my ears. Perhaps I could even be persuaded to double the prize if it meant your participation."

"I have no need to fight. I shall receive payment on the morrow and then we will depart."

The king shook his head. "A pity. Your bride does certainly appear weary from your travels—or perhaps it is simply your company that tires her. New wives are ever so delicate, you know."

So long she had relied on his eyes and the set of his mouth to reveal his emotion, but now that their bond was stronger and his face was no longer covered, Christine could easily see the anger in his expression.

But before he could retort, an anxious looking young man holding a pitcher came forward. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, m'lord, but it seems the stable hand is having some trouble with your horse."

Erik blanched, his mouth forming a firm line. He glanced down at Christine, his eyes flickering to her nearly full plate. "Remain here and eat, little nymph. I shall return shortly after I have dealt with their incompetence."

She watched him go, almost wishing he had taken her with him.

"So, you have been wedded to our fine assassin for how long?"

Christine blushed and dearly hoped Erik would return soon. She did not know how to conduct herself in this manner—not when her elders were so different from this strange ruler. She was terribly afraid of saying something that would upset Erik, or perhaps even endanger him because she did not know the proper words to speak.

"Not long, King..." she sighed, realising she did not even know how to address him.

He smiled, learning closer. "Drostan. You may call me Drostan. Now tell me, your husband said that yours was a hasty courtship. Did you dishonour your noble house by bedding him before you were wed? Was he so overcome by your beauty that he plucked a maiden's rose before securing her hand?"

Christine leaned back, deeply offended by the question. "Erik would never have... we have not..."

The king's eyes widened in surprise. "You have not yet consummated your marriage? Then you are not truly _one, _my dear. Someone might be liable to annul your vows and take you for themselves." He reached forward and ran a finger down the length of her long tresses, ignoring the way she lurched away. "Food for thought."

And though she still trembled from nervousness and a sudden awareness that Erik had been correct—that this king liked to examine and enquire about things that were most assuredly _not _his business— what held her attention most was the meaning of his warning.

They were not truly married?

* * *

Sooo... What do you think of not-Erik's-king, Drostan? Or as _FP33_ likes to call him "King Jerk"? And who wants a turn with Erik in the bathing pool? Mmm...

Ahem.

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	18. Chapter 18

I did _so _well... I prepared this to post and then... got caught up in a story (you can blame _FP33 _for that), and once again, if not for _The Brigade _I would not have remembered to post before going to sleep! Accountability is important!

Warning: Sensual content below! I do not think it necessarily constitutes a rating change but, then... I'm a terrible judge of such things. To those who have read my other works... um... well, just read and you can tell me what you think afterward...

Onward!

* * *

XVIII

Erik stalked ahead, a young and bashful stable hand stammering his apologies as he led him out into the yard. "Get on with it, boy! What is wrong with my horse?"

So help him, if they had poisoned him...

The stables were neatly kept, but Erik could not appreciate the smell of sweet hay and warm oats—not when Callum might be ill.

The boy brought him into the stall, and at first glance Callum seemed well. "It's his hoof, m'lord. The shoe is loose."

Erik sighed, trying to keep his temper. To be pulled away from a feast by a servant generally meant something dire—and he did not appreciate being worried for something so inconsequential. "So take him to the marshal. I fail to see why I should need to be consulted."

The stable hand looked to the ground, pushing at errant bits of straw. "Aye, m'lord, and I do be beggin' your pardon for interrupting. But we haven't got a marshal and our smithy has contracted a sickness and won't be able to see to it for another few days—not 'til the shakes stop. And his apprentice is just a lad and hasn't been with him more than a fortnight, and I don't think you'd be wanted to let him near such a fine beast. Not 'til he's surer in his craft."

"I think not." Erik sighed, terribly annoyed at the whole inconvenience. With a steady hand he pulled up the troubled foot and he could clearly see that the shoe was indeed loose. He could ride to the next village and see if they had a blacksmith who was not apparently near death's door. But to do so could risk Callum losing the shoe completely, and possibly damaging the sensitive tissues and leave him lame.

They would have to wait.

"Keep me informed of your smith's condition."

"Of course, m'lord!"

Erik leaned close to the horse's ear, his voice low, "Try not to get too fat, my friend. Enjoy your rest for I shall have us travel twice the distance to make up for it!"

Callum only swished his tale and bobbed his head in response.

And with a final affectionate pat on Callum's long neck, Erik returned to the castle, not waiting for an escort. He remembered the way well enough, and now that he was sure that his friend was in no imminent danger, his desire to return to Christine was at the forefront of his mind.

It went against his most protective instincts to leave Christine alone in a strange and unknown place. But she had not yet eaten her fill and he would not allow her to go hungry—not because of his insipid jealousies.

He was not oblivious to the looks she received.

Noblemen and servant alike sent many long glances to the head table, though his wife did not seem to notice. It made him almost wish he still wore his armour, for at least their attention would be drawn to the formidable knight and perhaps then less likely to the beauty at his side.

But he trusted her. If there was one thing he had come to realise, it was that Christine would never betray him with another—it went against the whole of her being.

So he had left her to eat and he was certain that none would attempt anything too untoward while in such a large gathering.

She was precisely where he left her, though her plate seemed hardly less full than when he had last seen it.

Christine glanced up at him as he approached, her relief readily apparent. "Is something wrong?"

He sat, turning his attention to his own considerable meal. "Aye, but nothing too dire. It does however mean we shall be remaining here for longer than I had intended."

The king clapped his hands. "Excellent! Does this mean you shall be participating in our little tournament?"

Erik's eyes narrowed. While many kings took pleasure in the participation of their finest warriors, it was not as though _he _had sworn his loyalty. His success would not bring glory to this man's realm, and Erik was hard pressed to find a logical reason why it was so important. Did he truly hold such a thirst for bloodshed?

He supposed it was entirely possible, especially given his initial instructions for disposing of the man in Monavyn.

"I shall need to speak to my wife on the matter."

He leaned closer so that only she could hear, "What is wrong, little nymph? Why will you not eat?"

She nibbled her lip and peered at him, her body tense. "I have need to speak with you also."

He studied her for a moment, trying to determine if something had occurred that required his intervention. Her hair had dried, both from the attention he had paid it with the bath linens and also from the warmth of the room. Her dress was rumpled from use but still was much finer than anything the other women wore. He noted ruefully that he was actually assessing her for injury or sign that she had been harassed in his absence, but there was none.

"You must eat, dear-heart. There is no meat, I swear it."

Some bit of tension left her at his endearment, and he was surprised at himself for its use. But it felt natural, so wonderfully natural, to shower her with sweet words and gentle touches.

And he would not be ashamed of it.

Not when she warranted nothing less.

"I never would have taken you for the type to require conference with your lady before accepting a challenge. Has married life changed you already?"

Whatever softness Erik had acquired from caring for Christine swiftly departed. "Other men must have the misfortune of being displeased with their wives—otherwise they would think it a hardship ensuring their continued contentment."

The king raised a goblet to his lips, a furtive smile in place. "I would know little of wives."

"Uncle, perhaps you should commence the dancing. Lady Flincher appears to have finished eating," the young man at the king's side suggested—though he was not so very young now that Erik gave him a closer look.

The king's attention sufficiently drawn, Erik returned to his own meal, relaxing as the sovereign rose and did indeed begin the dancing.

Christine nibbled on a bit of fruit, watching the couples absently. "Do you care for dancing?"

Erik took a sip of wine, briefly appreciating its quality. "Nay. That would require a partner."

She smiled up at him, and it sent a familiar flutter through his belly. "I never had a partner either. But I quite like the one I have now."

He swallowed. "Should you... care to dance?" He grimaced even as he said it, having no desire to make a fool of himself by parading about with the other couples. He would not object to holding her in his arms—never that—but he did not know the steps and he was certain his lack of comportment would cause quite a commotion.

But blessedly she shook her head. "I should like to retire. When you are finished, of course."

He made haste with his meal then, liking nothing better than the idea of holing themselves away for the rest of the night. He had no affection for feasts aside from the plentiful drink and array of foods, but now he was anxious and uncomfortable and wanted nothing more than to seal himself away with his new wife.

After all, this was their wedding night.

The mere thought sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

He was not certain what had come over him. Never did he think he could have been so bold as to draw her into the bath as he had done, nor touch her and speak so intimately.

But he had.

It was if something compelled him onward, as if his soul had overtaken his mind and with it his inhibitions—and he was not convinced that theirs was any great loss.

Not when she was so amenable, so perfectly and wonderfully receptive to his touches and his kisses. She had assured him over and over that their relationship was impeded only by his own reticence, not by her unwillingness.

And he finally felt ready to believe her.

With her sweetly receptive touches he was ready to consider that even if his face had not been healed by their unforeseen union, she would have cared for him.

His perfectly wonderful wife.

He took her hand and rose, ready to depart this farce of festive making and commence with their own private celebration. But before he had passed, the young man previously seated by the king rose and waylaid him. "Lord Erik, I shall not detain you but I would ask an audience with you on the morrow. I believe we have a mutual problem that could be remedied through joint... cooperation."

Erik stopped assessing the man before him. He bore a passing resemblance to the king, brown of hair and handsome enough features. But it was easy to conclude that this was not the king's son. "And you are?"

He gave a short bow. "Cyrus; nephew to the king and heir to our little patch of misery and woe. Would you agree to meet with me?"

Erik did not particularly want a new charge at this moment, but it was always worthwhile to meet with potential employers. "Aye. I shall find you out, do not seek my company."

Cyrus nodded. "Wise, I am sure. But do not let me keep you, I am certain your lady should like to rest." Unlike his uncle, his words were genuine and he offered Christine a sincere smile as he bowed and said goodnight.

He was rather proud of himself for not tucking her behind him, preventing her from even being seen or addressed by another man.

Perhaps he was improving.

Christine kept close to his side as they traversed the many stairs and passages to their chamber. He liked the feel of her against him. Usually when they walked he was fully bedecked in metal plates, and while he could appreciate the _idea _of her softness beside him, he could hardly feel it for himself.

"What do you think Cyrus wanted?"

Erik grunted, not wanting to discuss such things with her—especially not tonight. "To discuss a business proposition, I am certain. Nothing you need be concerned about."

He opened the door of their chamber, satisfied that a servant had stoked the fires in their absence and it burned bright and hot, warming the room nicely.

Christine was quiet, moving to stand before the flames, looking pensive. "It seems an odd thing, to plan to kill a man with so little recourse." She sighed, rubbing her arms absently as if the very thought chilled her. "But I must not know enough of your ways to understand it."

He approached her cautiously, not wanting her to dwell on these unpleasant matters. "You do not need to understand, little nymph. You shall not be sullied by any of it. I will not make you eat meat, and you shall not have to know about my more... grisly affairs."

She turned to face him, her expression shuttered. "We share a soul, you and I. Whether you think it or not, your actions will affect me." She blinked, and suddenly her seriousness had faded to a shy smile. "But that does not mean I will cease to love you, even if I cannot understand your work."

Erik was conflicted. It seemed absurd to think that his choices, the only skill at which he truly excelled would somehow leach through their steadily growing bond and cause her to be tainted. But so much of their relationship was built on ideas and fanciful imaginings that were too incredible to be believed—and yet he did.

It was something worth considering.

He pulled her into his arms. She was warm and pliant, and she nestled as close to him as she could, her fingers coming to play with the tight laces that fastened his doublet. "I think I like you without armour. You are much softer to the touch."

He chuckled, a low, breathy sound. "I do not know that any have called me soft before."

She peered up at him, her eyes a dark blue in the flickering light of the fire. "We were married today."

His fingers found her tresses, running through them as tenderly as he could manage. "Aye, dear-heart, we were." He could not help but hold her a bit more firmly at the reminder.

"Does that mean you shall seal us properly?"

He had no expectations.

Hopes, he could admit, but when he drew her upstairs it was the full intention to allow her to guide their evening. He would not presume upon her, no matter how he longed to join them, fully and completely, as man and wife.

"Is that what you desire?"

She nibbled at her lower lip, and he freed it gently with his thumb. "You must be certain, Christine. Do you even know what it means to consummate a marriage? Is it the same for your people?"

Now that he considered it, there was not guarantee that her kind even mated in the same manner as mankind. He had seen her breasts, so pale and rosy and absolutely perfect. Surely that meant that the rest of her would be the same.

She blushed burrowing her face in his chest, her words slightly muffled. "I believe so. But I cannot be certain..."

Erik swallowed thickly. "But you should like to try?"

Christine looked up at him, this time her expression resolved and all hint of mortification absent. "_Yes._"

He scooped her up into his arms with no hesitation. Her steady assurance, her confidence in him thrummed undeniably through their bond, and he had no room to doubt—not with her.

This time when he unlaced the back of her gown, he pressed heady kisses along her delicate spine, relishing in each elusive sigh and quickened gasp that escaped her at his attentions. She had no shame in her nudity, allowing him to remove her dress completely with only a soft smile on her lips as she awaited his approval.

And approve he did.

He had seen the female form, not through personal lust but through his many days of creeping through the more devious parts of villages and kingdoms, seeking out whatever degenerate had the misfortune of procuring the hatred of someone with enough coin to seek his skills.

But never like this.

Never with eyes so trusting, with hands that reached and found, a soul that tantalised and shared in every moment of breathless delight.

His body had never been so freely exposed to another. Moments flickered in his mind, of brutes and bullying youngsters who thought to expose him, to see if more burns covered the rest of his flesh.

And he had cried and grown bitter at being so betrayed by his fellow man.

Only to be healed by his little nymph.

She peeled away his clothes slowly, placing kisses in their wake much as he had done. He had expected for her to be nervous and shy, for him to lead her through this ancient dance, but perhaps that was the beauty of their bond. There was no need for hesitance—not when the emotions of the other were so clearly known and shared.

As it should be.

"You are so very winsome, Erik. So strong and yet gentle. Always so very gentle with me." Her hands slipped over the muscles of his arm, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

He bit back his retort—his years of practice at spurning any mention of his appearance. He tried to imagine how this would have occurred should her magic not have transformed him, but found once her lips nibbled and explored that he could not complete the supposition.

It would take time for him to accept his new features, not to cringe and hide when they were exposed.

But when he was with her, he did not _feel _exposed.

He felt loved.

And he would covet such a feeling and hold dear it, with all the strength he possessed.

He had never experienced such oneness.

Never had he truly appreciated the marriage vows until this moment. The vows they had spoken and the confirmation of the cleric that they were now one flesh echoed through him as he joined with her. They were _one, _both in mind, in spirit, and in body. His pleasure was hers. It was not simply her sweet sighs that led him to the proper action that might incite more of the delightful sounds, but the invisible link that entwined them when there was nary a touch, intensified tenfold when they succumbed. He knew when to ease so as not to hurt her, he knew when to distract her with more of his kisses—all because he had surrendered to whatever inconceivable bond had been forged betwixt them.

The bond guided him, urging his hands to excite, and yet soothe. It made him confident, assured that how he touched her and kissed her was _right_, and he thrilled with the contact that was equally pleasing for him.

After, as he clutched her in his arms and she nestled so perfectly into the curve of his body, he buried his face in her hair so that she could not see the tears that had pooled there. Every wrong he had suffered, every pain that had been inflicted had led to this moment—this wonderful moment when he had a wife in his arms that he had pleasured. And she loved him.

"Do not be sad, my Erik. I shall never leave you."

He swallowed, brushing his thumb against her bare skin, ensuring she was real. "How could I be sad when I am with you?"

She wriggled, evidently determined to turn so she could face him, and he took a steadying breath in hopes of calming his tumultuous emotions before she succeeded. "I am truly your wife now."

He smiled briefly, shaking his head. "I have come to realise, little nymph, that you were right. You have been my mate for far longer than simply this morning."

She looked down, and he caught only a glimpse of her triumphant expression, and he chuckled lowly. "Does that please you to hear it? That I was dreadfully, terribly, wonderfully wrong?"

Christine glanced up at him. "I will always be glad to know that you believe me. I realise now how incredible I must have sounded to you in the beginning, for your world is so different than mine." She sighed, and though she tried to hide it he knew she felt a moment's loss as she wondered if that world was truly hers any longer.

"You are still a nymph, Christine. Circumstances may have changed, but _you_ have not. Not truly." He bowed his head so as to place a soft kiss upon her cheek. "You are the greatest gift I have ever known, and I am selfish enough to bless those circumstances for it allows you to be with me now."

"And I bless them for allowing you to know what it is to be loved."

They both lapsed into silence, simply enjoying the feel of one another as the remnants of their sealing provided a contented thrum between them both.

"What is a tournament?"

Erik sighed resignedly even as he felt a rush of affection for his wife. Of course she could not be satisfied for long, and instead must continue to pepper him with questions. "They are a series of games and challenges, generally with a large prize for the champion. Larger tournaments include a joust."

He stopped realising that the word would mean little to her. He tried to picture Raghnall on a horse, charging at full speed toward an opponent. It was nearly laughable.

"Some games are in archery, others in combat of swords. I generally prefer the latter."

Her eyes widened. "And the king would ask you to participate?"

Erik shrugged. "Many do. Kings grow fat and easily bored when there is little war mongering to keep them preoccupied. They relish the thrill of watching their knights try to kill one another."

Christine stared at his chest, tracing errant patterns in the smooth flesh. "And you would like to? To try to kill them and perhaps be killed yourself?"

He should be affronted. To ask the question implied that he would _lose—_something that happened only in his earliest days. But he could also feel her worry and concern and knew that she meant not insult to his masculine pride, and he held her face tenderly as he bid her look at him. "I can assure you, Christine, no harm would come to me. But I have little desire to add to the whims of this king, and it is obvious you are wary at the notion." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple. "And I would much rather be sure of your approval than a sovereign who means less than nothing to me."

"So we shall leave on the morrow?"

"Nay. Callum cannot risk journeying with a loosened shoe and the blacksmith is unwell. We shall have to wait."

Her brow furrowed. "Callum has shoes? Even I do not have such devices." Even covered with the blankets Erik could feel her wiggling her toes as they pressed against his own legs.

She was his wife now, in every way, and he would need to care for her. Carrying her over twigs and stones was satisfying, but not overly practical. Sharing his cloak had been a meaningful gesture in the beginning—something tangible that showed his growing feelings for her even when he could not voice them aloud.

But now she needed so much more. She deserved gowns and shoes and cloaks, all in the finest of styles and materials.

And she needed a home, one far better than a small cottage in the woods.

She deserved the home of his birth...

He pushed such thoughts away. "They protect his feet, much as my boots do mine and only a blacksmith can see to it properly. I am sorry that I have not taken you to a cobbler to have you fitted with a pair."

She hummed softly in disagreement. "I like when you carry me."

Christine nestled further, her head resting upon his chest, and he amused himself with brushing through her long tresses with his fingers. "I shall not mind staying for a bit. Not when this room is so very fine."

He paused in his ministrations and raised an eyebrow in question, and she smiled at him cheekily. "Although I find that I do not mind the company either."

And when she lay softly sleeping and his heart felt so very full that he feared it might burst, he decided that he felt the very same.

* * *

Sooo... Looks like sooomebody finally consummated their bond! And much fun was to be had by all! As if there was any doubt... Of course, Erik doesn't know what King Jerk said to her before... Do you think that will be a mistake later?


	19. Chapter 19

I'm really torn about changing my posting schedule... since apparently I am suddenly incapable of actually _remembering _it as it currently stands. Although I did it today! May the streak continue evermore... but I'll be sure to keep you informed should dates/times change!

Also, following a few Mega-Chapters this one will probably seem a little short. That's what happens when you get spoiled! But who's ready for a little wedded bliss before the storm? Imeanwhat...

Onward!

* * *

XIX

Christine had never felt more complete. She awoke slowly, first aware of being so deliciously _warm, _the featherbed soothing and comfortable even as her bond-mate's presence surrounded her as completely as the bedclothes. She sighed sleepily, never wanting it to end.

But soon memories of the night before trickled through her consciousness, and she could not help but smile.

Her Erik was all roughness and bellowing prickles to everyone else, but he had been so very tender with her. Each touch of his hands had been supremely gentle, always ensuring that he was welcome and only caused those delightful flutterings in her lower belly, with none of the shame and nervousness she had feared.

It was perfect.

She giggled softly in rapt fascination of the feeling of being held. She had known the reassurance of his arms before, but now it was rather different. Even in his sleep he embraced her, and the newness of the feeling of skin on skin nearly left her breathless.

They had been bonded for some while now, but she was now keenly aware how week and tenuous it truly had been before. Few had waited so long before completing their sealing, and she wondered if their relationship could have been improved had they surrendered within the first days of their meeting. She could have assuaged his fears far better had they done so, as the pull, the sheer awareness of the other's presence through their minds and souls was undeniable.

But as she felt his arms constrict all the tighter as he slept, she realised she would exchange none of their past dealings.

For it led them to this moment that was so utterly wonderful that she would not change it for all the world.

And she only felt the tiniest pang of sadness that if she had known how precious this man truly was, she would have willingly sacrificed her right to see her entire people if it meant being his bond-mate.

"Are you awake?" His voice was low and thick from sleep, and she wondered at the intimacy of hearing it. None other would know how he held her close. None other would know each cherished detail of his sudden draw to wakefulness.

"Yes," she murmured, not wishing to break the quiet peacefulness of the morning with too many words.

Erik nuzzled into her hair, and she smiled exuberantly at the soft pressure of the kisses he placed there. "And you are well?"

She closed her eyes and burrowed as close to him as she could manage. "So perfectly well..."

Erik sighed in apparent relief. "Thank God. For I woke fearing it was all but a dream, and the thought of losing you..."

If possible, his hold on her tightened although not to the point of discomfort—never that. "Now that I know of your sweetness I do not think I can forget it once more. To be naught but your travelling companion..."

She dared not wriggle about to face him, so instead she tried to offer what relief she could be rubbing delicate patterns into the arms that held her fast. "You need not waste another moment contemplating it, Erik. You are my bond-mate, my husband, and I shall not let you go. Not when you have finally accepted your place with me."

"Oh Christine..."

He pushed at her shoulder until she lay prone upon her back, and he hovered over her. Not so close to be troublesome and she remembered his previous instruction about tending to their mouths before speaking overly much, but enough that she could look deep into his eyes and judge his sincerity. "I am indeed yours, and I shall never wish to be free. And I can only hope and pray that you find belonging to me not too much of a burden."

She shook her head and caressed his bared cheek with her free hand. "I accept you gladly, my Erik. Readily and freely. And I offer myself to you just as eagerly."

His eyes darkened at her word and for one elating moment she thought he was about to kiss her.

But instead he groaned and rolled away and out of their bed, mumbling and grumbling all the while.

She was about to be hurt by the action, but she could not help but smile when he pulled on his black _braies_ and then proceeded to rifle through his bags with an irritated proficiency, pulling out the little pot of minty poultice that would leave her mouth feeling cool and refreshed when used.

Perhaps she should be annoyed that he could be so distracted by the state of his mouth that he had not acknowledged her submission, but instead she found it tremendously endearing.

She rose from the bed, unsure if she should see about covering her nakedness as he had done. It seemed tedious to don her dress when she hoped to coax him back into bed in another moment, but she did not wish for him to be uncomfortable with her bare skin so readily on display, so she donned his tunic and joined him at the basin to begin their morning ablutions.

"First my cloak and now my tunic. Are you determined to keep me from wearing clothing?" His tone was light and teasing, and she relished the simplicity of their first morning as a properly married—and sealed—pair.

"I believe you promised me clothes of my own. I am merely encouraging you to uphold your vow by claiming your own garments as my hostages."

She rinsed the last of the poultice away, her teeth and mouth feeling satisfactorily cleansed. She took a step back and gestured over her newly clothed figure. "I think it suits me rather well." She walked a in a small circle, admiring the freedom of movement without long skirts to tangle about her ankles. "Perhaps I shall wear this today instead of my gown."

Erik dried his mouth on a nearby linen, and growled lowly in his throat before stalking toward her. "If you think I shall share the view of your delectable legs with the likes of any of these miscreants, you are sadly mistaken."

He pounced.

She could not help the shriek of delight when he scooped her into his arms, swiftly returning them to the bed, mimicking their earlier positions. "Now, I believe you had just finished assuring me that you are _mine._"

Christine could contain the last few of her giggles, and she tucked an errant lock of his hair behind his ear. "I believe I might have suggested such a thing, yes."

He kissed her. She tasted mint and perhaps a bit of lemon and something that was entirely _Erik_ and when she felt his body respond to the ferocity of his passion, hers awakened in kind.

But before they could continue their pursuits, a timid knock interrupted them, and Christine felt an equal sense of irritation at whoever dared approach them.

Erik groaned and glared at the offending door, though at first he made no move to answer it. But when the knock echoed again he stood, quickly donning his breeches. For a moment he searched for his tunic but then cast her an exasperated look when he remembered that he was incapable of covering his upper body due to her thievery.

She merely grinned impishly.

He stormed to the entrance and flung open the door with great force and Christine could not help but feel a moment's pity for whoever had dared encroach upon their privacy.

"What?"

A young girl lurched back and Christine recognised her as the one who had escorted them to the bath the night before. She was pretty and small in stature, with hair dark and cut short—only slightly longer than Erik's. Christine thought it quite curious for a female.

"Beggin' your pardon, m'lord. I was told to fetch your breakfast." She did indeed carry a heavily laden tray, and Erik grabbed it with a none-too gentle hand.

"Out, girl." She nodded furiously and bobbed a polite curtsey before scurrying back down the hallway. Erik shut the door with a _bang, _and Christine tried to decide if she was upset by the sudden change in mood. But as she watched her bond-mate bluster and frighten the poor servant who only followed her order, she found the entire episode terribly amusing.

For it meant that he valued his time with her, he lashed out at those who kept him from her, and there was something endearing about such a notion.

He placed the tray on a small table before the fire, flanked by two cushioned chairs. Erik ran a hand through his slightly dishevelled hair, and found a spare tunic that he put on along with their shared cloak and his boots. Before she could begin to feel forlorn at his apparent departure, he moved toward the bed once more, placing a kiss on her waiting lips. "See what they have offered for breakfast, I shall return shortly."

She suddenly remembered that there was one particular need that he had _not _been able to see to yet this morning, and nodded her assent. She did not know why she never required the privy as he called it, but it seemed a troublesome thing to need and she was glad to be free of it.

But with the mention of food she rose, but now that she no longer had her husband's heated gaze to warm her, her legs felt exposed and chilled in the morning air. The fire had long since died to only the barest of embers, and with great care she threw in a log settled beside the great stone hearth.

At least, she hoped that was the function for the rather considerable pile that remained there. But as the lingering bits of flame found purchase on the dry and cracked piece of wood, she knew there was little she could do to stop it.

She would certainly not risk her limbs by trying to rescue it.

Satisfied that the room would soon begin to warm itself, she settled into one of the chairs and tucked her legs up into the overly large tunic. She almost regretted that he had taken their cloak, but quickly pushed away such thoughts. He was not the one settled before a fire, and therefore had far greater need for its protection.

Next her attention turned to breakfast. She had not managed to eat much the night before and her stomach suddenly protested her lack of enthusiasm for the meal. The tray was covered neatly by white linen cloths, and as Christine removed them she supposed it was to keep in the heat that seemed intent on escaping from the prepared dishes.

It did not _seem _to be meat. If she was to speculate she would suppose it was some kind of plant-life or grain, but she was not going to risk it. Erik had told her to see to their food, but that did not mean she would begin to eat it without him first identifying its contents.

Before long Erik returned, and to her great pleasure he shed their cloak and his boots before joining her before the fire.

To herit was a fire at least. There were flames and a satisfying glow, but Erik chuckled as he looked at it.

She would have been affronted if she did not so enjoy the sound.

"That was a very good attempt, Christine. But let us see if we can warm you a bit more with a larger offering."

He added a few more logs and poked at it with a great iron stick that rested beside the hearth, and indeed it produced a much more robust heat than what she had managed.

"Now, what meagre rations did they provide us?"

He sank into the chair beside her and uncovered the rest of their breakfast. There was nothing _meagre _about it, and Christine rather thought King Drostan was trying to lure Erik into participating in the tournament from the sheer amount of foodstuffs he proffered alone.

"Strawberries!"

Erik watched with amusement as she took one of the plump red fruits and devoured it greedily. "It pleases me to know there is _something _you can identify on your own."

She blushed even as she raised her chin in defiance of his teasing censure. "It is no fault of mine that your kind makes their food into things unrecognisable to the natural world."

He snorted but conceded. "I believe this is some kind of warm oat mush." He poked at it thoughtfully with yet another metal device, this one with an end that she assumed was for scooping.

"Perfectly safe from any of your woodland friends," he added with a touch of resignation. She shook her head at him. Christine supposed that if he had little qualms about taking human life then using an animal for food was no great burden, but she could not help but remember each time she had witnessed the birth of a new little of kits to a bright red mother fox. Or when she had stumbled upon a lightly spotted fawn as his mother stood protectively over its nest of grasses, ready to defend him with her life if the need arose.

Erik poured a generous helping of white liquid onto the oats, and even sprinkled a few of what appeared to be dried berries before handing it to her. "My lady bond-wife."

Christine smiled at the name although she tried to cover it with a roll of her eyes and a huff.

Their breakfast was most satisfying, especially the strawberries. Erik encouraged her to pay more attention to the prepared oats but she sneaked as many of the succulent fruits as she could—though when she caught him eating quite a few himself she suspected his admonishment was for fear she would eat them all herself and leave none for his own feasting.

Finally, after they had eaten their fill, Erik poured steaming cups of something he called _tea_, and after assessing her for a long moment, placed another dash of the creamy liquid and also some strange looking granules before handing it to her.

To his own cup he merely added a dash of the white fluid before settling against the back of the chair with a contented sigh.

She took a tentative sip. It was sweet and mild and so wonderfully warm that she accepted it most gratefully.

"Once you have finished we must dress."

Christine looked at him reprovingly. "I thought you were not going to participate in the tournament."

He smirked at her. "Put away such looks, little nymph, they do not become you. I intend to see to your wardrobe."

She hesitated, not certain how she felt at the idea. She knew she needed more gowns, and possibly the dreaded _shoes _that would at least make her capable of walking through the forest without injury, but a large part of her wanted to resist this change. Her gown was one of her last bits of home, and she thought it wrong to abandon it so quickly.

But her bond-mate wanted to indulge her, and was that not what she dreamt of him doing for so long? And he would think her unappreciative of his efforts, and that she could not allow.

She sniffed imperiously, much as he was prone to do, and let her toes peek out from their cocoon in the tunic. "But must I wear the shoes? They seem so... cumbersome."

"You must at least _try _them, Christine. If you find them so deeply offensive then I shall promise to carry you wherever it is your whim. But you might find that you appreciate the warmth as I am certain your toes become cold on occasion."

She blinked at him innocently. "But I have you to warm my feet now as we sleep. I hardly need shoes for that any longer."

It amazed her that her simple teasing could inspire such a reaction. He rose swiftly from his chair, taking her cup along with his own and hastily returned them to the tray before kneeling before her. And it was a testament to his height that she had to lean down only the smallest bit to receive his kiss, and she felt his exuberance at her words through their bond.

Eventually he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers as they tried to steady their breathing. "You are far better than I could ever deserve."

She smiled at him and could not help but place another kiss upon his lips. "Sometimes it is not for us to decide. Sometimes we need only be thankful."

And this time there was no mistaking the slight sheen in his eyes, now a darkened amber, that bespoke how tenderly he held this moment. "I love you, little nymph. So very much."

She gently wiped the corner of his eye with her thumb, once more revelling in the openness they now shared. "I know. You show me every day."

His eyes, so wide and vulnerable, beseeched her. "And you love me?"

And she smiled at him sadly that he should even have to ask it. "So very much, my Erik. I do love you."

There was no answering kiss, no move to the bed to consummate their expression of admiration. She only held him to her as silent sobs shook his shoulders and his tunic absorbed the evidence of his relief. "Do I not show you enough? It was so obvious that you loved me through your actions and deed that I did not need to ask. Do you require more of me? How can I show you my love?"

He pulled away, and had she not felt the trembling of his frame as she held him, she would not have known that he had cried at all. "Hold me close, touch me, _stay _with me. That is all I ask."

Her devoted knight.

He looked so very frightened as if he asked too much of her, when in truth he only craved the affections that she longed to bestow. "I knew that loving you would be no great hardship."

He scoffed but did not protest when she rose and tugged at his hands until he once more towered over her, and this time she burrowed into his embrace—where she always longed to be. "I think this is what it is to be happy. It is rather nice, do you not agree?"

His arms held her all the more firmly and she felt him stoop to press kisses into her hair, and she could not help but smile. "Aye, it is happiness. And you shall spoil me with it."

She almost felt forlorn when he released her, but he held her hand and eased her through the process of dressing with such care that it nearly left her breathless. His hands were gentle as he guided her arms through the sleeves, and while the night before he had kissed the curve of her spine as it was revealed to him, this time he consecrated each bit of flesh before it disappeared as the laces were pulled taut.

Christine could not help but notice that he had ensured she was never wholly naked to his view. He had left the tunic in place until he had pulled her gown over her hips, only then removing his garment from her. She _knew _he found her pleasing to the eye, but already a feeling of unease was settling over her. And though she often cursed her inability to keep from pestering him, the enquiry escaped before she could contain it.

"Do you not like to see me bare?"

His eyes widened, and much to her surprise, he _laughed._ It was an incredulous sound but one suffused with genuine humour, and it caused her to blush hotly from her evidently idiotic question.

"Nothing could be further from the truth, little nymph. But we have things to tend to today and should I see you exposed and at my mercy yet again, I would be helpless to do anything but take you to my bed. So I shall keep you as covered as possible until the time is right to bear the sweet torture of having such perfection uncovered to me once more."

She had never imagined what it would be like to be so _desired. _And he spoke so sincerely that she could not even begin to doubt that he meant every word.

This was having a bond-mate. It was desiring and fulfilling, of loving and protecting, whether it be in body or, perhaps even more importantly, the heart of your chosen mate.

"I choose you, Erik. I might not have had the opportunity when we first met, but I do so now. Willingly and without reservation. I choose you as my bond-mate and my husband. For now and always."

And perhaps she had sworn to do so yesterday in the little stone chapel nestled in the woods. But it was only now, with their bond thrumming with new life and her bond-mate staring at her with such adoration that she truly understood.

A mating could not be explained, it had to be felt and experienced.

And as she helped him dress as well and he proceeded to tuck her into his side and they made their way to whatever shops he felt would best suit her, she knew that she loved him more than anything in the world.

* * *

Sooo... she loves him! Was there any doubt? I mean, _really._ And she chooses him and that means life from where on out shall be nothing but rainbows and roses, right? Right?! Yeeaaahhh... If that was the case, the next chapter would be the epilogue. And somehow I don't think that's happening...

Bwahhaha!

Ahem.

Until... Monday! Wow, I can't even keep days straight anymore... I didn't even notice it was posting day until (in her attempt to redeem herself for last time) _FP33 _emailed me this afternoon as a reminder! Yup, without you guys this story would be lost and forgotten.


	20. Chapter 20

For those who have asked, my official posting schedule is supposed to be Monday/Thursday, around... 12AM PST... sooo... if you want to help hold me to that, I would not be upset!

And now, let's get to know a few more people, shaaall wee... Oh yes, and go shopping! What's not to love about shopping?! Oh... right... well... Christine does seem to have strange reactions to things...

Onward!

* * *

XX

Erik was never overly fond of shops. Most looked at him with suspicion, while others saw him as merely an opportunity for acquiring much coin, and he found their simpering reverence equally irritating.

But entering the tailor's realm accompanied with Christine was something else entirely. He was able to watch her eyes alight with wonder at fabrics and styles, and he was curious how she normally received her clothing. Was it part of their nymph magic wherein garments knit themselves together as there became a need? He did not ask, not certain how much he truly wished to know of her people. And if it was true that some of her memories were muddled, he had no desire to cause her pain by making her grope through the fog simply to assuage his inquisitiveness.

He wanted to spoil her, but Christine proved more practical than he would have originally assumed. She insisted that she only had need of one additional gown—though when she was not looking he commissioned a second—and with a hint of sadness she pronounced that perhaps it would indeed be prudent for her to have a cloak of her own. Although she was sure to explain to him that was only because she would not allow him to be cold on her account.

His silly nymph.

As if now that he had experienced sleeping by her side he would ever be cold again.

There was sense to her prudence, as everything would have to be carried on Callum's back, and he was already more heavily burdened than he was generally accustomed—not that Christine was any great weight. But Erik had to be sensible, and although he wished to shower her with material goods that could provide her evidence of his affections, she only smiled at him and placed a kiss upon his uncovered cheek.

"I do not need _things _to show me that you love me. I need only you."

It was a curious thing going without his mask or helm. A very great part of him still felt it necessary to wear—that over the years it was as much a measure of security as was his sword. But when he had reached for it this morning Christine had pleaded with him, assuring him that it would please her greatly if he would at least _try _to go without it.

And how could he refuse?

Little had changed with his interactions with other people. He was still gruff and wary, and they in turn avoided him in favour of directing enquiries and conversation to Christine, who seemed to flourish at the relations. But every so often she would turn to ensure his continued presence and give him a soft smile, and he knew that she only managed to do so because of his staid company, giving her courage in an otherwise unfamiliar world.

The cobbler was a different matter. Christine appeared dubious about the entire process and cringed and worried her lip fretfully as the cobbler's apprentice took measurements and showed her a variety of styles.

"What about this, m'lady? 'Tis a fine pair befitting your station."

Erik thought they looked rather like dancing slippers. One step in anything remotely muddy would provide their immediate ruin.

"Boots, boy! Something practical! We have a ways to travel yet and she requires protection, not vanity."

At least Christine's eyes had alighted at the pretty pair from earlier, but now as she looked at what constituted a lady's boot she grimaced. "They will be so confining!"

Erik rolled his eyes. "You will break in the leather soon enough with use, and they will keep your feet _safe._ I have had quite enough of seeing them bloody and abused."

Even when she pouted he would not relent and eventually, with promises that the requested items would be ready soon—in two days time at the absolute latest—Erik returned Christine to their rooms. He had not forgotten Cyrus's appeal for an audience, yet he almost considered dismissing it. He knew of no great issues that would require his interventions, and he was not one for his generosity of spirit should the task prove inconvenient. He would much prefer to shutter himself away with Christine and wile away the hours on more enjoyable pursuits while the rest of the castle was preoccupied with the tournament.

From beyond the castle walls they had heard the cheers and encouragements of an impressive crowd, each giving heart to their favoured knights, the sound of splintering wood as it cracked against a shield readily audible even from afar.

The joust was such a messy business.

Erik participated but rarely as Callum was never one to cooperate except under great protest, and Erik did not relish the bruises that lingered for weeks afterward. Even when he was successful, his lance finding its mark on a fellow knight, the pressure on his arm at the force was enough to cause tremendous discomfort, let alone the injuries that followed a well placed hit from an opponent.

Not that those were allowed to happen often.

"Are you certain I must remain here? What shall I do in your absence?"

It was a fair point as there was little in the room that would provide much in the way of amusement.

But as he looked at her, as beautiful and naturally radiant as she was, even he could see that their travels had begun to take their toll. From what she had once mentioned, her people slept longer than he usually allowed them, and they were certainly not ones meant for covering great distances.

He brushed her cheek gently with his thumb, trying to smooth away the slightly darkened smudges beneath her eyes that bespoke her weariness. "You should rest, dear-heart. I shall not be overly long and then I shall fetch a servant to bring us sustenance. Is that acceptable to you?"

She glanced at their bed, freshly made by some servant girl. He resolutely _refused _to give in to the prickles of mortification that threatened to take hold at the idea of a maid finding evidence of their sealing. He had a right to be intimate with his wife, and she had been more than willing—there was no need for shame.

He kissed her once in parting, but he could not help lingering a moment before he sought out Cyrus. "Do not wander off."

He did not mean to make it sound like an order, but as she stared at him she must have sensed that he was uneasy leaving her alone in a strange dwelling, for she nodded her acquiescence without argument. "I shall be waiting for you. And perhaps you can awaken me with a kiss."

His eyes darkened and it was with only the greatest outpouring of self-control that he was able to remind himself why leaving her was necessity, even if it was only for a moment.

"Perhaps I shall."

Never had he been so grateful for their bond. For even as he fastened the door behind him and sealed away a piece of his heart, he could _feel _her and knew that she was well.

And although he hated being separated from her, he knew that he would come to rely on this new assurance when necessity dictated their temporary parting.

The town surrounding the castle was alive with commotion. He was grateful that the tailor had been toward the opposite side from the tourney, otherwise it would have required him to take Christine into the throngs of men, their blood singing with violence, either their own or on behalf of their favoured participant.

Cyrus was more difficult to locate than he anticipated. He was not seated by his uncle, perched upon a high dais, laughing and commending whoever managed to draw the most blood from their challenger.

Eventually he spotted the little serving girl that had been charged to their care, scurrying about with trays of food and wine that would be passed to more well kempt servants who would bow lowly and submit their offerings to the king.

He caught her on the way back to the kitchens, with a loud, "Girl!"

She halted immediately, turning to him with a frightened expression. "M'lord? I'm ever so sorry if I'm late with your meal, m'lord but..."

Erik dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. "I had a wager with your king's nephew, Cyrus, and I am looking to collect. Do you know of his location?"

Her eyes widened at the mention of his name, and he found that rather curious. He had supplied a relatively believable reason for meeting with him, although it could prove unnecessary. But as the possibility remained that he had need of Erik's more morbid services, it would not do to make their meeting notable to the servants.

"Of course, m'lord. He prefers a quieter spot to observe the games."

Excellent.

A _quieter spot_ apparently meant one far from the crowds. In truth one could see little of the actual competition, but instead it allowed an appreciation for the bustling kingdom that suffered from an equal lust for chivalry and sportsmanship—even the kind that could include bloodshed.

The girl brought him to a small grove, where two women that he was certain Christine would have classified as _old-growths_ sat knitting and gossping as was their wont. Erik had little intention of paying them any mind, but the girl seemed to hesitate and eventually stopped short by their conversation.

"Did ye hear about the queen, God bless 'er? That new 'usband of 'ers was murdered down in Monavyn! Had his throat cut clean through!"

The other biddy gasped in horror, although Erik could clearly see her eyes alight with excitement at the prospect. "Poor lamb! And after sufferin' such a disgrace here. Only wanted to scratch out a bit 'o happiness after being married to such a louse as our king," both stopped their knitting to glance upward at the sky and mumble, "May he reign long and proud."

The servant girl finally seemed to find the use of her legs, though she might have been encouraged by the none too gentle push Erik gave her to keep moving.

He had no doubt that that the man of which they spoke was the one he had killed nigh upon a sennight ago. He did not ask for reasons. He did not ask _why _someone should request his skills, he only took their coin and performed a task, with his conscious little burdened for the exchange.

Then why did it prickle so now?

And it was foolishness itself to wonder why, when it was so clear even to him. Because now he knew that the man left behind a widow—a woman who had apparently faced some hardship while still remaining here—and all he could picture was some thief in the knight murdering him while he passed through a market, leaving Christine frightened and alone.

Things had changed.

Whatever part of his heart had been so firmly shuttered from feeling for the plight of others was opened, and while he would not say that he would never kill again—such would be lunacy—he realised now that the _why _mattered.

And before he agreed to anything that Cyrus petitioned of him, he would ask it—as uncomfortable as he was at the notion.

A little past the grove was a lone tree, outfitted with a tapestry upon the grass and a lounging Cyrus eased against the trunk. He hurried to his feet with a wide smile, his eyes firmly on the serving girl, but she quickly shook her head and her eyes flickered to Erik's form slightly behind her.

Curious.

"That will be all, Bonnie. Thank you for escorting him."

She blushed and gave a clumsy curtsey, "M'lords."

Erik turned before she had managed to move too far away. "For your sake, girl, there had better be a noonday meal in my chambers before I return!"

She nodded furiously, her eyes wide, and she all but ran back to the safety of the castle kitchens.

Erik returned his attention to Cyrus who now looked at him with what could also be considered a glare. "You needn't frighten her. She's an obedient girl."

He stared at the man, an eyebrow raised in question.

Cyrus sighed and sank back to the ground. "Are you going to loom or shall you also sit?"

Erik stared down at the tapestry with distaste. "Could you not have picked a more dignified place of solitude?"

He shook his head. "Sometimes privacy is worth more than seemliness."

Rather than concede, Erik merely walked toward the tree, leaning against the trunk and folding his arms. "You are rather obvious, you know."

Cyrus peered up at him. "What do you mean?"

Erik scoffed. "Your affection for the girl."

Cyrus's eyes darkened. "Do not speak of it. That is not why you are here."

"Is it not? You said that this was a matter of mutual interest, and I can assure you, I am not in the habit of meddling with the serving class. Whoever has employed her that protests your dalliance is no concern of mine."

The prince shook his head. "You understand nothing."

Erik eased further against the tree, the perfect picture of indifference. "Very well then, enlighten me."

Cyrus sighed. "Are you certain you will not be seated? You are going to give me a terrible ache in my neck."

Erik merely smirked.

"How well versed are you in the laws of this land?"

He shrugged. "Enough."

Cyrus scowled. "I can see why your reputation so precedes you. You are not one for civility, are you?"

Erik rolled his eyes, already tiring of this interlude. "Shall you be reaching a point in the near future? I have a bride that awaits me." He closed his eyes for a moment, checking on their bond for any signs of her distress. All he could sense was a swirling haze and a quiet tranquillity that bespoke of her repose.

He relaxed, knowing she was well and resting.

And could not help but be slightly amazed at how quickly he was coming to rely on this strange new connection.

"Bonnie and I were married almost a month ago. It was a simple affair, only a hand fasting witnessed by the smithy, but it was all that I could provide at the time. But despite my efforts to keep it secret, my uncle discovered us and..." Cyrus clenched his fists, and Erik saw a familiar rage overtake his features. "He brought her in front of the entire court. He called her a slave and a whore that was not befitting a noble line. He took out a knife and I was sure he would slit her throat where she stood...but instead he chopped off her hair. Her lovely, lovely hair..."

He seemed lost for a moment, and Erik shifted uncomfortably. It was one thing to discuss the cold and clinical matter of an assassination; it was another to recount an intimate story of humiliation toward one's wife.

Perhaps knowing the reason was not so very preferable after all.

"Why did you not stop him?" The question was asked before he could think better of it. He did not fear this man, or the reprisal, but his remorse was obvious and he supposed there was little need to make him feel worse.

But even now he could not imagine standing by and doing nothing while his Christine was terrorised by a tyrant.

Cyrus glared at him.

"Unlike you, I am not capable of disarming his entire guard. They held me subdued while he carried out the deed."

Erik sniffed. While all young men received some training in the art of combat, Cyrus did not appear overly muscled that would imply some hidden strength that would enable him to best multiple guards.

"I still fail to see how this is also a problem of mine."

Cyrus huffed and fell back until he was lying upon the tapestry, and Erik thought it a terribly imprudent measure. He _knew _of Erik's profession, and to be so vulnerable...

For a moment Erik was glad of his skills. For no matter what, he knewhow to protect his Christine. And allowing such moments of weakness would have surely gotten him killed and then who would be there to keep her safe?

And _no one _would touch her hair but him.

Cyrus groaned and threw an arm over his eyes, and Erik could not help but roll his own at the action. To be so trusting was absurd in the extreme.

"The king has expressed an... interest in your bride."

Erik stared down at him, his body taut and coiled. "What?" he asked; his voice deathly calm.

Cyrus sighed and stood, ensuring he looked at Erik properly so he could see his sincerity. "While you were called away to the stables the king made some lewd remarks to your wife. He questioned your marriage and I am afraid your bride might have... insinuated that you had not yet consummated it fully."

Cyrus raised his hands in a placating fashion, Erik unable to fully contain the growing rage that filled him. "Tell me _precisely _what was spoken."

"She did not mean to reveal anything untoward. My uncle has a way of... twisting words to meet his own desires, but he made it clear to her that unless you two had fully consummated your marriage that it was possible for it to be annulled—that someone else could take your place in her..." Cyrus's eyes fell away and he took a careful step backward before he quietly finished, "bed."

Erik lunged, grasping him by the throat. "And you did nothing to intervene?" His voice was a low growl, even as he realised his hypocrisy. He accused this man of not protecting his wife when Erik so completely failed his own.

He knew she did not care for the lewd way the king spoke—for his easy manner of speech about something so wholly sacred and intimate. And while he had assured her that he would mind his own tongue in future, he had egregiously misjudged how the king would comport himself in company.

He was a fool.

And he wanted to leave immediately.

But even as he made the determination, a cold thought entered his mind—one that left him so terribly afraid.

He lurched away from Cyrus, who rubbed his neck with only a petulant glare, making no move to retaliate.

What if she had not truly wanted it?

She did so wish to bind herself to him in any way she could, and if she had been informed that their marriage was only truly valid upon their most intimate sealing, she could have seen it as the only way to get him to stay—not because she desired him as completely as he cherished her.

His mind returned to the blissful night before, and he searched through every memory as a man possessed. Every breath, every touch he assessed for hesitation, for any glint in her eye that bespoke of her reticence.

Had he truly been so blind?

Cyrus watched him warily, rightfully cautious about continuing his tale. "I can tell she did not speak of it to you." He suddenly appeared worried and Erik did not miss the way he took yet another step back. "Perhaps I was wrong to mention it. I do not know you, Lord Erik, and I should hate to think you would punish her for my uncle's unwelcome attentions."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "I would never _hurt _Christine. And I grow weary of so many suggesting I would be capable of such a feat."

Cyrus nodded. "Many speak of your vicious nature, but I am heartened for you to confirm that you are gentle with her. She deserves to be treated so."

Erik huffed, already tiring of this. He was too hurt, too worried by the possibilities of Christine's full motivations from the night before and only a conversation with her could allay—or confirm—his fears.

"Drostan is free to take a proper wife, why must he covet mine?"

Cyrus returned his attention to the floor. "He does not wish for her to be his wife, Lord Erik, only his mistress."

Erik could not help but clench his fists at the mere suggestion, as unwanted and most decidedly unwelcome images flooded his mind—_his _little nymph laid upon the king's bed, frightened and in pain, forced to become his mistress while still bound so unequivocally to Erik's very soul.

He shuddered, vowing that it should never take place.

If Callum had not been incapacitated he would have left with her at that very moment.

And while his steed had been his faithful companion for many a long year, with horror he found himself debating whether it would be worth leaving him behind as he stole another beast, all so that he could spirit away his Christine to some semblance of safety. Anything to spare her such a fate.

"The last wife of the king left in disgrace after she failed to bear him a child." Cyrus shrugged. "Not that any child by him should have been an heir, for the line passes through me."

Vaguely Erik remembered whispers in his childhood, of a crowned prince killed in a tournament, of a foreign bride forced to return to her people even after the birth of her son, too young to replace his father as heir. The king at the time had lamented the loss of his son, and for the blind affection he had for his remaining offspring, he gave him the crown for the duration of his life.

And now a man, too hungry for power as he wielded it over his fellow men had made the terrible mistake of looking toward Erik's little nymph as a potential bed partner.

"What is it you suggest we do?"

And Cyrus stood tall and proud, the first evidence of the royal blood that supposedly ran through his veins, and smiled.

"I suggest we kill the king."

* * *

Sooo... what do you think of Cyrus? He's not Harold but I suppose he'll do... and what do you think of what King Jerk did to Bonnie? Should Erik have been willing to intervene just for that?

And something tells me that Erik is going to have a wee bit of a confrontation with Christine about this whole... keeping things from him business. Wonder how that will go... Remember, it's not safe to go running off in this castle, Christine!


	21. Chapter 21

Is it really time to post again?! *sigh* I'll get it together someday... and of course by then the story will be over. Although I suppose in my defense I _was _taking care of five-month old twin girls! Sooo... there was that.

Anyway, let's see how Erik takes this whole... not telling him about scuzzy King Jerk threats... shaaaall weee...

Onward!

* * *

XXI

Christine awoke to the sound of the door shutting firmly. She blinked sleepily, trying to remember if there were any dreams lingering in her mind, something she now wished for almost nightly. Erik said he had experienced a vision of her _adar, _and she too had seen him the night of their initial bonding, and she could not help but hope that he would come to her again.

No matter how much she now loved her bond-mate, that did not negate the affection she still held for her people.

But there were none, and although her first impulse was to rise and greet Erik properly, she hesitated, remembering her earlier teasing that he should awaken her with a kiss. So she kept her eyes closed and waited for his movement, only to hear his boots take him to the seats before the fire and not to her side as she so desired.

It took a very great effort not to pout.

"Erik? Are you well?"

He did not turn to look at her, only stared into the flames that still burned brightly even with his absence.

A feeling of trepidation settled in her lower belly, and for a moment she tugged at their bond, trying to ascertain if he was angry with her—or perhaps his meeting had been dreadful and the person had hurt him...

But there was nothing that indicated a physical pain, only a deep mistrust that nearly chilled her.

She rose swiftly from the bed, hurrying forward to better assess his condition.

He did not even glance at her, and she knew something was terribly wrong.

Christine knelt before him, her hands pressing and coaxing until finally he relented, his eyes meeting hers.

And when she saw them, with all the pain and barely concealed anger so easily visible, she almost wished she had not.

"How could you not tell me?"

She blinked, holding firm against the impulse to pull away from him. "Tell you what? What has happened?"

He shook his head disbelievingly, returning his glare and his tightly sealed lips to the fireside.

Where had their lovely morning gone? Where he spoiled and kissed and made her feel so very cared for?

She remembered the man who had asked to meet with him, and she could not help a feeling of ire to overtake her that whatever they had discussed had put her Erik into such a foul mood.

"Please, speak plainly. I cannot explain if I do not know what has upset you."

He scoffed, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. "The fact that you were not disturbed by it troubles me enough. But that you might also have..."

A pained look flittered across his features, and it was all she could do to keep from smoothing away each line of distress with her fingers. Something assured her that he would not appreciate her touch, not now.

"Did that man suggest that I have done something wrong? You have been with me most always and I know I often speak strangely and am not skilled yet in my manner but I _am _trying! I hope I do not embarrass you."

That had been her grave worry for some time. Erik often seemed more amused by her different ways rather than annoyed, but she still waited to hear from an observer that she was troublesome and uncouth, wholly unworthy of being his bond-mate.

And the way he refused to look at her stung acutely, and she wished with all her heart that this uneasiness between them could pass.

But it could not, not until he _spoke _to her.

So she sat and waited, allowing herself the comfort of smoothing patterns into his covered knees with her fingertips, waiting as patiently as she could for him to sort out whichever thoughts were tormenting him.

_Finally,_ with a shuddering sigh he grasped her wrist to bring her touches to a halt, his eyes quite admirably cloaking his emotions.

"Why did you not tell me that the king had made wrongful advances toward you?"

Christine glanced at him sharply, not expecting that to be what had caused his sudden withdrawal. He had said that such was the manner of the king—that he liked to pry into bondings that were not his own and Erik had not seemed overly alarmed. It was only on _her _behest that he had promised his increased discretion.

There was also the niggling worry that if she did divulge his actions, Erik would have somehow found _her _to blame. In the beginning of their association he had consistently accused her of perceived unfaithfulness, and what if he thought that the king's proposition—his touch—held appeal?

"You would have been angry that he touched my hair and that he questioned our marriage. You would have been angry with _me_. I only wished for us to have a pleasant evening." She looked down at her wrist, still held within her bond-mate's grasp. "I thought we had succeeded."

His grip on her tightened, though not to the point of pain. But the action still made her glance at him, and his eyes burned. "Is that why you did it? You did not truly wish to _be _with me but took the word of a black-hearted usurper that our marriage was not valid unless you submitted to my attentions?"

Christine gaped at him, her shock preventing her from forming an adequate reply. "You were _there, _you know of..."

Erik shook his head, the demeanour of the surly and jaded knight that she had first come to know from him returning so swiftly she had to blink away the beginnings of tears.

"Do you not see, Christine? That would make far more sense than for you to have..." He released her, his hands going to his hair and tugging fiercely, and she could do nothing but stare and hope that she could provide the words he so desperately needed to hear that would assure him of her love.

And then she knew.

"Than for me to love you? For me to willingly accept you into my body as an expression of that love?" Unwelcome as her touch might have been, she could not bear their separation. So with a steadying breath to provide her confidence she climbed into his lap, pressing her palms against the smooth, perfect flesh of his face and imploring him to believe her.

"You have lived your life accepting a lie, my Erik. You are desirable. You are loved. And you are my _mate_. I did not seal myself to you because of the words of the king, nor out of misplaced obligation. I did so because I craved being close to you, both in bond and in body, and I do not regret that union. Please do not taint it with mistrust."

He stared at her for a long moment, and she allowed him time to think and consider—to _feel _her sincerity as she begged their bond to confirm what she so truly experienced. At no time had she thought of their sealing with anything but exaltation and delight. For him to even ponder, if just for a moment, that she was only a begrudging participant...

It was too painful and distasteful for words.

He trembled in her arms and not for the first time she cursed the life he had led. No child should have been so hurt by their mother, and people should not have been so cruel as to blame him for it—as if he had been anything but an innocent thrown to the whims and mercies of those unfit for the blessed burden.

"Why did that man tell you these things? Did he simply wish to upset you?"

Erik shook his head, the movement stilted by her continued touch. "We spoke of other matters. I believe he wished me to know of it so I could protect you better. I _shall _protect you better. He should not have touched you—no man should ever touch you."

She tilted her head, determined to understand him fully. "But the king danced with a woman who was not his wife. And many men and women touched at the feast without any ill effects. Do you not wish for me to be touched because you doubt my faithfulness or because you fear they will do me harm?"

His hands, once settled at her waist and supporting her position upon him moved to brush away the hair that tangled over her shoulders, and there was a wildness to his action that unnerved her. "Do you not see? That my fear is that you do not... _cannot _love me as deeply and as passionately as I adore you. I know of your fidelity, Christine. The repugnance you exhibit at merely the suggestion is plain, even to me. But I do not trust these other men—that something so pure and good can be within their midst and that their desire to possess such a thing would not drive them into madness."

He pulled at her gently until her forehead rested upon his, and she relished how the curtain of her hair shrouded them in a moment birthed only in the intimacy of their mutual understandings.

"Yours are a strange people."

He smiled, softly and sadly and she could not help but press an all too hasty kiss upon his lips, helpless to deny the impulse that bade her do so.

"Aye, little nymph. But I have been remiss in teaching you of their ways—even the unpleasant ones I wish you need never know."

He shifted, pulling away from her slightly and easing against the back of the chair, his hands returning to rest lightly upon her waist. And though perhaps he simply did not exert any great effort to conceal it, or perchance she was coming to know his expressions all the more, Christine could readily perceive he was concealing something from her. "What else did you discuss? Something still troubles you."

Erik sighed and he grasped a lock of her hair, playing with it absently. "I would take you away from here. I would hide you away from any man who dared threatened to disrupt what we have made, but I cannot. I cannot leave Callum and he is yet unable to travel." His grip tightened around her waist and his eyes were imploring. "You understand that, do you not? That I cannot leave him? I _will _protect you, my dear-heart, from all things. But for now that means we must remain."

Her brow furrowed, not fully understanding. "What is this great danger that you see? Many men have made advances toward me, but I am quick and they have not succeeded. The king that is not yours is hardly different."

Erik released a careful breath and she immediately regretted her words. Eldared's bond-mate never liked to hear tales of the men they encountered, and he fully embraced the sanctity of their sealing. She should be more mindful of Erik's propensity to question the significance of their bonding and not reference the desires of other men—not when it would only serve to upset him.

"I am sorry, my Erik. I should not question you. I am certain if you sense a danger that it is valid."

Erik groaned and closed his eyes as his head fell against the tall back of the chair with a gentle _thump._ "You must think me a jealous brute, little nymph—that I do not trust you to hold true to your vows. This king is not like other men, he is cold and hard and delights in the suffering of others. Far too many sovereigns share these attributes and it is one of the reasons I refuse to swear my loyalty to them, for none is truly deserving. But this one... Drostan has gone too far, Christine. For he has threatened _you._"

She leaned back so rapidly that if it had not been for Erik's quick intervention she might have landed on the carpet beneath his feet. "What do you intend to do?"

She knew of his profession. She knew of his penchant for violence and death. But she knew equally that it did not define him. It was his trade, much as Harold's was to spin course materials into the silken thread that so aptly repaired her gown.

Yet as she looked at him, his eyes shuttered and his face grim, she swallowed back her arguments.

She would not ask him to confirm her suspicions, nor would she press him to reveal whatever he planned.

For in truth, it was quite simple.

She either trusted this man or she did not.

And how could there be love without trust?

And when he was about to answer, to offer either an explanation or a harsh retort that she remain out of his affairs, she pressed her lips to his firmly. For when their lips met and her very soul tingled with new life, she knew that it was love.

"I rescind my enquiry; I do not wish to know. Just as you shall trust me that I love you in all things, I shall trust that you will try to do what is best for us."

He chuckled lowly, and there was humour in the sound that warmed her heart. "Only _try_, little nymph? You have so little confidence in me?"

She smirked, unable to conceal the part of her that was deeply aware that he was prone to his own bouts of foolishness. "I do not promise to never have my own input. But I am certain between Callum and my own contributions you can be made to see sense when it is required."

His smile faded. "I must hear the words, Christine. Do you understand why we cannot leave yet?"

She nodded. "The man who can make Callum well is incapacitated by a fungus. I know well of such maladies..."

She dropped her gaze thinking of her mother. Once so very beautiful, only to have her strength and vitality stripped away as her tree withered and fell, leaving her poor _adar _without his beloved bond-mate.

Christine's lower lip trembled as she thought of him alone once more, not even his nymphling to ease his sorrow.

Erik had begun to laugh at her description but he quickly quieted at her reaction. "Christine, what is wrong?"

"Do you think that I shall ever see my _adar _again?"

His eyes softened and he drew her to him, holding her safely in his arms, reminding her of all the reasons that this melancholy was worth experiencing. "Oh, dear-heart. If I had such power I would make it so that you could see him, that you would never know the sorrow of losing one you loved. I do not pretend to understand why your people would spurn you for something that was not of your own doing, but I should hope that one day you might be reunited. If only for a moment."

He held for a while, his hands soothing and caressing as he offered the comfort of his presence. He did not ask her if she found him worth it. He did not ask if given the opportunity she would pick her people over their sealing, and she was glad of it. For it meant that even through their bond he was able to feel the gentle thrum, the ever present reassurance that what passed between them was real.

"I am sorry that you do not have a family to miss as well."

She felt a kiss pressed upon her temple. "Are you? I find that my lack of kinship does have an unexpected benefit." His mouth lowered closer to her ear, and she could not help but shiver as his lips barely skimmed the flesh beneath it. "It has afforded me far more privacy with you than many other marriages enjoy."

She pulled back sharply, her own eyes darkening at the sultry timbre of his voice. But before she gave, before she allowed herself to forget each semblance of pain and grief that still lingered as she kissed her bond-mate and coaxed him into expressing their love once more, she could not help but stroke his cheek fondly and murmur, "You will not leave Callum for he is your friend. And you do not abandon those you love. And I would not esteem you as highly as I do if you made any other choice."

She rose carefully, determined not to embarrass herself by tripping over his feet and ruining her intention. She took his hand, and she revelled in the blatant look of desire that crossed his features, but just as she was about to tug, to pull him to the bed and welcome the ravishment that was sure to follow, another timid knock upon the door interrupted her slow dance of seduction.

And as she watched him scowl and glare at the door—to which she could not help but provide her own pout of displeasure—she hurried to the impediment before he could even rise from the chair, determined to deal with the intruder herself. While she did not appreciate being kept from him, she did not want some unfortunate soul to bear his ill will when they were almost certainly only following the bidding of another.

The girl who brought them breakfast was against holding a tray, though she visibly relaxed when she noticed Christine was the one to allow her entrance. "Beggin' your pardon, m'lady, I hope I was not interrupting. The lord made it ever so clear that I was to bring your meal as soon as he had returned."

Erik grunted from his place in the chair, and Christine gestured for her to place the tray on the table by the fire. She considered taking their platter of food and dismissing the obviously frightened girl but she was afraid that such would be thought rude—and she did so wish to conduct herself properly.

The girl tripped over the corner of the rug when she noticed Erik's glower, but she righted herself before all of their meal capsized. Some goblets did splash however and with bright cheeks and lowered eyes she mumbled her apologies, wiping up the mess hurriedly, her every action belying her belief that Erik would beat her senseless at any moment.

Christine cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. "Have you a mate that hurts you?"

The maid froze in her frenzied movements, and her eyes, brown and wide, flickered to meet hers. "M'lady?"

"Was the question confusing to you? My deepest apologies, I often do not mind my words. I suppose in this land you would call him a _husband._ Do you have a husband that hurts you?"

Christine briefly glanced at Erik and noticed a strange knowing smirk on his face as he watched their interlude. Her eyes narrowed.

"No, m'lady."

Christine nodded, glad to hear it confirmed but not her material point. "Then do not presume that mine would do so."

The girl gave a deep curtsey. "Of course, m'lady." She turned to address Erik, although she would not meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, m'lord, I didn't mean any offence."

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and with only one last passing look at Christine she hurried from the room.

"It is not often I have such a fine defender, my lady. To what do I owe such a particular demonstration?"

Christine sighed and sank into the chair opposite him, already missing the warmth of sitting with her bond-mate. "I do not like the opinion others have of you. Many are quick to think that you will harm me, and others assume that you will harm _them._ You are a better man than they believe, and it is my right to defend you."

She looked at him quickly, suddenly unsure. "Is it not?"

He laughed quietly and this time he was the one to rise and tug at her arm, pulling her back into his embrace, their meal temporarily ignored. "It is your right if you wish it to be. But I must provide one small observation that you seem to have overlooked. They have a _reason _to fear me, Christine, for they are not guaranteed their safety. You need never have such apprehension, for I would _never _do you harm."

Her lips pursed and she stared at him, trying to determine if he was in earnest. "You do not hurt people without reason, of that I know. Even if she spilled every drop of ale onto the carpets you would have yelled and blustered but you would not have struck her. And I will not have them thinking so, not when I am near. I should feel deceitful if I allowed them to tremble at your presence when they are in no true danger."

His stroked her hair and hummed, his eyes soft and his touch affectionate—as it always had been. "My dear-heart, you think me a better man than I am. But I cannot seem to find the will to argue with you. Not when there is a warm meal and a bed that would prove far more worthy of our attentions."

And when he gave her one last kiss before they ate their fill and he carried her to their bed and did indeed see to her ravishment, Christine found that she had no objections whatsoever.

* * *

Sooo... Was that too bad? Yes, he should have just trusted her to begin with... but knowing Erik it could have been a lot worse! And who likes Christine defending Erik's honour? Bet that's a new experience for him...

And lastly... who wants to bet I'll remember to post on time on Monday?! Yeah, I wouldn't take that either...


End file.
